... She had chosen her child instead of a convention
which, less than a month ago, she had so passionately desired; a month
ago it seemed to her that, once married, she could do no more harm,
have no more shame. Yet she had given all this up for David! ...
Suddenly she spurred her mind back to that talk with Dr. Lavendar: she
would promise--anything! And planning her promises, she sat there,
gazing with intent, unseeing eyes at the clover, until the chilly
twilight drove her into the house.
It was not until Saturday that she dared to go to the Rectory. It was
early in the afternoon, just as the Collect Class was gathering in the
dining-room. She had forgotten it, she told Mary, as she closed her
umbrella on the door-step. "Can I wait in the study?" she asked,
uncertainly;--there was time to go back! The task of telling part of
the truth to this mild old man, whose eye was like a sword, suddenly
daunted her. She would wait a few days.--she began to open her
umbrella, her fingers blundering with haste,--but retreat was cut off:
Dr. Lavendar, on his way to the dining-room, with Danny at his heels,
saw her; she could not escape!
"Why, Mrs. Richie!" he said, smiling at her over his spectacles. "Hi,
David, who do you suppose is here? Mrs. Richie!"
David came running out of the dining-room; "Did you bring my slag?" he
demanded.
And she had to confess that she had not thought of it; "You didn't
tell me you wanted it, dear," she defended herself, nervously.
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