She had been afraid for a long time. Even before she came to Old
Chester she was a little afraid, but in Old Chester the fear was
intensified by the consciousness of having made a mistake in coming.
Old Chester was so far away. It had seemed desirable when she first
thought of it; it was so near Mercer where business very often called
him. Besides, New York, with its throngs of people, where she had
lived for several years, had grown intolerable; in Old Chester she and
Lloyd had agreed she would have so much more privacy. But how
differently things had turned out! He did not have to come to Mercer
nearly so often as he had expected. Those visions of hers--which he
had not discouraged--of weekly or certainly fortnightly visits, had
faded into lengthening periods of three weeks, four weeks--the last
one was more than six weeks ago. "He can't leave his Alice!" she said
angrily to herself; "I remember the time when he did not mind
leaving her." As for privacy, the great city, with its hurrying
indifferent crowds, was more private than this village of insistent
friendliness.
She leaned back in her chair and pressed her hands over her eyes; then
sat up quickly--she must not cry! Lloyd hated red eyes. But oh, she
was afraid!--afraid of what? She had no answer; as yet her fear was
without a name. She picked up her book, hurriedly; "I'll read," she
said to herself; "I won't think!" But for a long time she did not turn
a page.
However, by the time Mr. Pryor came back from the tea-party she was
outwardly tranquil, and looked up from her novel to welcome him and
laugh at his stories of his hostess. But he was instant to detect the
troubled background of her thoughts.
"You are lonely," he said, lounging on the sofa beside her; "when that
little boy comes you'll have something to amuse you;" he put a
caressing finger under her soft chin.
"I didn't have that little boy, but I had another," she said ruefully.
"Did your admirer call?"
She nodded.
"What!" he exclaimed, for her manner told him.
"He tried to be silly," she said. "Of course I snubbed him. But it
makes me horribly uncomfortable somehow."
Lloyd Pryor got up and slowly scratched a match under the mantel-
piece; he took a long time to light his cigar. Then he put his hands
in his pockets, and standing with his back to the fire regarded his
boots. Helena was staring straight ahead of her with melancholy
eyes.--("Do you ever have the feeling," the boy had said, "that
nothing is worth while?") Lloyd Pryor looked at her furtively and coughed. "I suppose," he
said--and knocked the ashes from his cigar with elaborate
care--"I suppose your adorer is a good deal younger than you?"