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Updated: June 25, 2025
At last she said: "Do come here, Annette!" Annette came, rather unwillingly. She sat down on the end of Constance's bed, and took out some knitting from her pocket. She foresaw a conversation in which she would need her wits about her, and some mechanical employment steadied the mind. "Annette, you know," said Constance slowly, "I've got to be married some time." "I've heard you say that before."
Later, she heard movements on the house-stairs, and the familiar whining creak of the door at the foot thereof. She skipped lightly to the door of the bedroom. "Good-night, Mr. Povey. I hope you'll be able to sleep." Constance's voice! "It will probably come on again." Mr. Povey's voice, pessimistic! Then the shutting of doors. It was almost dark.
"But Sybil, think of Mm. What did he ever care for you! He has made you free already." "He is still my husband." "Take this latest escapade with this Miss Dunlap." "Well, what do I really know about that?" "You saw him." "Yes, but maybe it was as he said." The door was flung open, interrupting Constance's reading, and Sybil Brainard entered. The artificiality of the beauty parlor was all gone.
"I'm sure I congratulate you both," Constance breathed, realizing the import of Mr. Critchlow's laconic words. "I'm sure I hope you'll be happy." "That'll be all right," said Mr. Critchlow. "Thank you, Mrs. Povey," said Maria Insull. Nobody seemed to know what to say next. "It's rather sudden," was on Constance's tongue, but did not achieve utterance, being patently absurd. "Ah!" exclaimed Mr.
But she was rewarded when, with the grey dawn, he awoke, and, catching her tender and tearful gaze, flung himself upon her bosom, and bade God bless her for her love! A strange suspicion had entered Constance's mind, and for Godolphin's sake she resolved to put it to the proof. She drew her mantle round her stately figure, put on a large disguising bonnet, and repaired to Madame Liehbur's house.
Never had a young and ambitious woman a beauty and a genius a finer moment for the commencement of her power. It was Constance's early and bold resolution to push to the utmost even to exaggeration a power existing in all polished states, but now mostly in this, the power of fashion! This mysterious and subtle engine she was eminently skilled to move according to her will.
Godolphin laughed; he was alive only to the vanity of the boast, because he shared not the enthusiasm; this was Constance's weak point: her dark eye flashed fire. There's nothing bores a man more than the sort of uneasy quiet that follows a day's journey.
Though she curtsied to him, she did not look at him, but turned away, glad to be quit of all the eyes, and in a moment had slipped into the crowd from which she had come. It was midday, and old Israel, the fisherman, who had brought her and the Widow Constance's Barbara up the river in his boat, would be going back with the tide.
She swayed back, half fearful, half desirous that he should see her; for it was he, the man for whom she had waited so long, the man she had enshrined within her heart. Adrien, all his doubts as to the possibility of winning Constance's love returning to him in full force once he had left her presence, had come down to the theatre with two objects.
Miriam had seen him as he sat alone for hours in his own room, with the door ajar, caressing the written pages as though they were alive and answered him with love for love. She knew it was Constance's letter to Barbara, but she had lacked curiosity as to its contents until to-night. The letter to Laurence Austin was written on paper of the same size.
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