Somehow or other the empty day passed; she had Lloyd's novel and the
candy. It was cold enough for a fire in the parlor, and she lay on the
sofa in front of it, and read and nibbled her candy and drowsed. Once,
lazily, she roused herself to throw some grains of incense on the hot
coals. Gradually the silence and perfume and warm sloth pushed the
pain of the last twenty-four hours into the background of her mind,
where it lay a dull ache of discontent. By and by even that ceased in
physical well-being. Her body had her in its grip, and her spirit sunk
softly into the warm and satisfied flesh. She bade Sarah bring her
dinner into the parlor; after she had eaten it she slept. When she
awoke in the late afternoon, she wished she could sleep again. All her
thoughts ran together in a lazy blur. Somewhere, back of the blur, she
knew there was unhappiness, so this was best--to lie warm and quiet by
the fire, eating candy and yawning over her book.
The next few days were given up to indolence and apathy. But at the
end of the week the soul of her stirred. A letter from Lloyd came
saying that he hoped she had the little boy with her, and this
reminded her of her forgotten promise to Dr. Lavendar.
But it was not until the next Monday afternoon that she roused herself
sufficiently to give much thought to the matter. Then she decided to
go down to the Rectory and see the child. It was another dark day of
clouds hanging low, bulging big and black with wind and ravelling into
rain along the edges. She hesitated at the discomfort of going out,
but she said to herself, dully, that she supposed she needed the walk.
As she went down the hill her cheeks began to glow with the buffet of
the wind, and her leaf-brown eyes shone crystal clear from under her
soft hair, crinkling in the mist and blowing all about her smooth
forehead. The mist had thickened to rain before she reached the
Rectory, and her cloak was soaked, which made Dr. Lavendar reproach
her for her imprudence.
"And where are your gums?" he demanded. When she confessed that she
had forgotten them, he scolded her roundly.
"I'll see that the little boy wears them when he comes to visit me,"
she said, a comforted look coming into her face.
"David? David will look after himself like a man, and keep you in
order, too. As for visiting you, my dear, you'd better visit him a
little first. I tell you--stay and have supper with us to-night?"