while spread over the divan and watching her--in a formal
chair--discontentedly. He rose suddenly and stood above her, a
domineering bulk obliterating nearly everything else. In response
to his demand she said, pale and composed, that she was not
"reasonable"; she omitted the "yet" included in his question.
Pleydon frowned. However, then, he insisted no further.

When he had gone Linda was as spent as though there had been a fresh
brutal scene; and the following day she was enveloped in an
unrelieved depression. Her mother mocked her silence as another
evidence of ridiculous pretentiousness. Mr. Moses Feldt regarded her
with a furtive concerned kindliness; while Judith followed her with
countless small irritating complaints. It was the last day at the
apartment before their departure for the summer. Linda was
insuperably tired. She had gone to her room almost directly after
dinner, and when a maid came to her door with a card, she exclaimed,
before looking at it, that she was not in. It was, however, Arnaud
Hallet; and, with a surprise tempered by a faint interest, she told
the servant that she would see him.

There was, Linda observed at once, absolutely no difference in
Arnaud's clothing, no effort to make himself presentable for New
York or her. In a way, it amused her--it was so characteristic of
his forgetfulness, and it made him seem doubly familiar. He waved a
hand toward the luxury of the interior. "This," he declared, "is
downright impressive, and lifted, I'm sure, out of a novel of
Ouida's.

"You will remember," he continued, "complaining about my sense of
humor one evening; and that, at the time, I warned you it might grow