The morning after she had
spoken with heart laid bare. Eglington had essayed to have a
reconciliation; but he had come as the martyr, as one injured. His
egotism at such a time, joined to his attempt to make light of things, of
treating what had happened as a mere "moment of exasperation," as "one of
those episodes inseparable from the lives of the high-spirited," only
made her heart sink and grow cold, almost as insensible as the flesh
under a spray of ether. He had been neither wise nor patient. She had not
slept after that bitter, terrible scene, and the morning had found her
like one battered by winter seas, every nerve desperately alert to pain,
yet tears swimming at her heart and ready to spring to her eyes at a
touch of the real thing, the true note--and she knew so well what the
true thing was! Their great moment had passed, had left her withdrawn
into herself, firmly, yet without heart, performing the daily duties of
life, gay before the world, the delightful hostess, the necessary and
graceful figure at so many functions.
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