Yesterday she would have believed his answer. To-day
she believed nothing he said. She went to her room and bathed her eyes
in cold water and sat down for a moment before her glass and looked at
herself thoughtfully. There she was, the same Beatrice she saw in the
mirror every day, the same clear brown eyes, the same soft brown hair,
the same broad, crayon-like eyebrows, the same free pose of the head.
But there was something different in the face, which she did not
recognise. There was something defiant in the eyes, and hard about the
mouth, which was new to her and did not altogether please her, though
she could not change it. She combed the little ringlets on her forehead
and dabbed a little scent upon her temples to cool them, and then she
rose quickly and went out. A thought had struck her and she at once put
into execution the plan it suggested.
She took a parasol and went out of the hotel, hatless and gloveless,
into the garden of orange trees which lies between the buildings and the
gate. She strolled leisurely along the path towards the exit, on one
side of which is the porter's lodge, while the little square stone box
of a building which is the telegraph office stands on the other.
Pages:
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190