Читать книгу The Ball of Fire онлайн

92 страница из 101

She sat up presently, and remembered that the dove-coloured gown was her pet. With a quite characteristic ability of self-segregation, she put out of her mind, except for the dull ache of it, the tangled vortex of distress until she had changed her garments and let down her waving hair, and, disdaining the help of her maid, performed all the little nightly duties, to the putting away of her clothing. Then, in a perfectly neat and orderly boudoir, she sat down to take herself seriously in hand.

First of all, there was Howard. She must cleanse her conscience of him for all time to come. In just how far had she encouraged him; in how far was he justified in assuming there to be an “understanding” between them? It was true that they had grown up together. It was true that, from the first moment she had begun to be entertained by young men, she had permitted him to be her most frequent escort. She had liked him better than all the others; had trusted him, relied on him, commanded him. Perhaps she had been selfish in that; but no, she had given at least as much pleasure as she had received in that companionship. More; for as her beauty had ripened with her years, Howard had been more and more exacting in his jealousy, in his claims upon her for the rights and the rewards of past service. Had she been guilty in submitting to this mild form of dictatorship, and, by permitting it, had she vested in him the right to expect it? Possibly. She set that weakness to one side, as a mark against her.