The only stimulus that worked--and that only for a time--was a
fierce attack on Glenwilliam in one of the morning papers. She read it
hungrily; but it brought on acute headache, which reduced her to idleness
and closed eyes.
After a while she roused herself to pull down a blind against a teasing
invasion of sun, and in doing so she perceived a slim, white figure
hurrying away from the house, through the bright-colored mazes of the
Italian garden. Marcia! She remembered vaguely that Marcia had come to her
that morning in trouble about what? She could not remember. It had seemed
to her of importance.
At last, about half an hour after she had seen Marcia disappear in the
shrubbery paths leading to the East Wood, Lady Coryston, startled by a
sound from the fore-court, sat suddenly erect on her sofa. A motor?
She rose, and going to a little mirror on the wall, she straightened the
lace coiffure she habitually wore. In doing so she was struck--dismayed
even--by her own aspect.
"When this is all over, Marcia and I perhaps might go abroad for a week or
two," she thought.
A swift step approaching--a peremptory knock at the door.
"Come in!"
Arthur entered, and with his back against the door stood surveying
his mother.
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