"I was
going to ask you about that. For it was hurt pride that sent him away
and he hasn't forgotten the hurt, even yet. He was going to tell us,
last night when I stopped him, that he hadn't written again because he
wasn't certain that we wanted to hear; and he was painfully conscious
of how childish it would sound in words, too. Some men quit when they
are whipped once, but don't some of them refuse to recognize that
they've ever been whipped at all, Cal? And then, she told me that she
had asked him to her party, Friday night. If he comes I think I'll be
better able to tell just what----"
"He won't!" cut in Caleb flatly, and when she taxed him for it he
proceeded to elaborate at considerable length the reason for his
certainty. His argument was rather tight and so, just because of that,
woman-fashion she believed the contrary.
All day Friday she watched the hills' road. Not until the orchestra in
the lodge beyond the hedge had begun tunelessly to strum their
instruments, to insure their later tunefulness, did she reluctantly
abandon her position at the window. But then, from his chair at the
fire, Caleb noticed how wistfully disappointed her face was.
It turned much colder with nightfall; a wind sharp with the tang of
autumn was blowing in off the river when Barbara, muffled from throat
to ankle in a sapphire fur-edged wrap, slipped in at the door, having
stolen away ostensibly to display to them her costume.
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