"It does seem queer," she said
indifferently.
"'Course I know it ain't just citified," Mrs. Thomas hastened to
affirm; "but the veil and the bow together's got a meaning that I think
is real sweet." She waited a moment, almost pathetically anxious for
Pearl to see the symbolism of her two incongruous adornments, but her
listener was too genuinely bored and also too self-absorbed to make the
attempt. "It's this," said Mrs. Thomas, determined to explain. "The pink
bow kind o' shows that I'm in the world again and," bridling
coquettishly, "open to offers, while this crepe veil shows that I ain't
forgot poor Seth in his grave and can afford to mourn for him right."
But Pearl had not waited to hear all of these explanations. Without a
word to the rest of the parting guests, and with a mere inclination of
the head toward Seagreave, she had slipped away.
Alone in her small, bare room, undressing by the light of a single
candle, the brief interest and curiosity which Seagreave had aroused in
her faded from her mind. For hours she lay sleepless upon her bed,
listening to the rushing mountain stream not far from the cabin, its
arrowy plunge and dash over the rocks softened by distance to a low,
perpetual purr, and hearing the mountain wind sigh through the pines
about the cabin: but not always did her great, dark eyes stare into the
blackness; sometimes she buried her head in the pillow and moaned, and
at last she wept, permitting herself the flood of tears that she had
held in check all day.
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