The eclipse was what hurt
her. She had held the centre of the stage with the
lime-light full upon her all her life, and she intended
to retain it against Miss Billeton or Miss Anybody
else. She decided to let Max know at once, and in
plain terms, giving him to understand that she didn't
intend to be made a fool of, reminding him at the
same time that there were plenty of others who cared
for her, or who would care for her if she should but
raise her little finger. She WOULD raise it, too, even
if she packed her trunks and started for Paris--and
took him with her.
These thoughts rushed through her mind as she
sat by the window and looked out over the sea. The
tide was making flood, and the fishing-boats anchored
in the inlet were pointing seaward. She could see,
too, the bathers below and the children digging in
the sand. Now and then a boat would head for the
inlet, drop its sail, and swing round motionless with
the others. Then a speck would break away from
the anchored craft and with the movement of a water-
spider land the fishermen ashore.
None of these things interested her. She could
not have told whether the sun shone or whether the
sky was fair or dull.
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