And why had he thought it needful to conceal his going from her? When Sophy Viner had left, it had been with the understanding that he was to await her summons; and it seemed improbable that he would break his pledge, and seek her without leave, unless his lover's intuition had warned him of some fresh danger.Anna recalled how quickly he had read the alarm in her face when he had rushed back to her sitting-room with the news that Miss Viner had promised to see him again in Paris.To be so promptly roused, his suspicions must have been but half-asleep; and since then, no doubt, if she and Darrow had dissembled, so had he.To her proud directness it was degrading to think that they had been living together like enemies who spy upon each other's movements: she felt a desperate longing for the days which had seemed so dull and narrow, but in which she had walked with her head high and her eyes unguarded.
She had come up to Paris hardly knowing what peril she feared, and still less how she could avert it.If Owen meant to see Miss Viner--and what other object could he have?--they must already be together, and it was too late to interfere.It had indeed occurred to Anna that Paris might not be his objective point: that his real purpose in leaving Givre without her knowledge had been to follow Darrow to London and exact the truth of him.But even to her alarmed imagination this seemed improbable.She and Darrow, to the last, had kept up so complete a feint of harmony that, whatever Owen had surmised, he could scarcely have risked acting on his suspicions.If he still felt the need of an explanation, it was almost certainly of Sophy Viner that he would ask it; and it was in quest of Sophy Viner that Anna had despatched Miss Painter.
She had found a blessed refuge from her perplexities in the stolid Adelaide's unawareness.One could so absolutely count on Miss Painter's guessing no more than one chose, and yet acting astutely on such hints as one vouchsafed her! She was like a well-trained retriever whose interest in his prey ceases when he lays it at his master's feet.Anna, on arriving, had explained that Owen's unannounced flight had made her fear some fresh misunderstanding between himself and Miss Viner.In the interests of peace she had thought it best to follow him; but she hastily added that she did not wish to see Sophy, but only, if possible, to learn from her where Owen was.With these brief instructions Miss Painter had started out; but she was a woman of many occupations, and had given her visitor to understand that before returning she should have to call on a friend who had just arrived from Boston, and afterward despatch to another exiled compatriot a supply of cranberries and brandied peaches from the American grocery in the Champs Elysees.
Gradually, as the moments passed, Anna began to feel the reaction which, in moments of extreme nervous tension, follows on any effort of the will.She seemed to have gone as far as her courage would carry her, and she shrank more and more from the thought of Miss Painter's return, since whatever information the latter brought would necessitate some fresh decision.What should she say to Owen if she found him? What could she say that should not betray the one thing she would give her life to hide from him? "Give her life"--how the phrase derided her! It was a gift she would not have bestowed on her worst enemy.She would not have had Sophy Viner live the hours she was living now...
She tried again to look steadily and calmly at the picture that the image of the girl evoked.She had an idea that she ought to accustom herself to its contemplation.If life was like that, why the sooner one got used to it the better...But no! Life was not like that.Her adventure was a hideous accident.She dreaded above all the temptation to generalise from her own case, to doubt the high things she had lived by and seek a cheap solace in belittling what fate had refused her.There was such love as she had dreamed, and she meant to go on believing in it, and cherishing the thought that she was worthy of it.What had happened to her was grotesque and mean and miserable; but she herself was none of these things, and never, never would she make of herself the mock that fate had made of her...
She could not, as yet, bear to think deliberately of Darrow;but she kept on repeating to herself "By and bye that will come too." Even now she was determined not to let his image be distorted by her suffering.As soon as she could, she would try to single out for remembrance the individual things she had liked in him before she had loved him altogether.No "spiritual exercise" devised by the discipline of piety could have been more torturing; but its very cruelty attracted her.She wanted to wear herself out with new pains...
XXXI
The sound of Miss Painter's latch-key made her start.She was still a bundle of quivering fears to whom each coming moment seemed a menace.
There was a slight interval, and a sound of voices in the hall; then Miss Painter's vigorous hand was on the door.
Anna stood up as she came in."You've found him?""I've found Sophy."
"And Owen?--has she seen him? Is he here?""SHE'S here: in the hall.She wants to speak to you.""Here--NOW?" Anna found no voice for more.
"She drove back with me," Miss Painter continued in the tone of impartial narrative."The cabman was impertinent.I've got his number." She fumbled in a stout black reticule.
"Oh, I can't--" broke from Anna; but she collected herself, remembering that to betray her unwillingness to see the girl was to risk revealing much more.
"She thought you might be too tired to see her: she wouldn't come in till I'd found out."Anna drew a quick breath.An instant's thought had told her that Sophy Viner would hardly have taken such a step unless something more important had happened."Ask her to come, please," she said.
