Her heart felt like lead. Things would never be the same now. Probably
there was some explanation of his not coming, but it could never be
really atoned for. The wild romance and confidence in this first visit
could never be regained.

And then there was a loud, quick ring at the bell, and at once he was in
the room, breathing rapidly, as if he had run up-stairs or even from the
corner. She could do nothing but stare at him. She had tried in the last
ten minutes to remember what he looked like, and now she was astonished
to find how exactly he looked as she remembered him.

To her horror, the change between her late despair and her present joy
was so extreme that she wanted to cry. The best she knew how to do was to
pucker her face into a smile and to offer him those chilly finger-tips.

He hardly took them, but said, as if announcing a black, but
incontrovertible, fact:

"You're not a bit glad to see me."

"Oh, yes, I am," she returned, with an attempt at an easy social manner.
"Will you have some tea?"

"But why aren't you glad?"

Miss Severance clasped her hands on the edge of the tea-tray and looked
down. She pressed her palms together; she set her teeth, but the muscles
in her throat went on contracting; and the heroic struggle was lost.

"I thought you weren't coming," she said, and making no further effort