Of course, Jimmy could not be with her
if she were ill and unconscious. She felt bitterly ashamed of her
suspicion; her spirits went up like rockets; she threw the paper aside.
The terrible load of care seemed lifted for a moment from her
shoulders; she was asking Jimmy's pardon on her heart's knees for
having ever dreamed that he would do such a thing after all his
promises to her.
She opened the door and looked into the corridor. Downstairs she could
hear a band playing in the lounge; it sounded inviting and cheery. She
went down the stairs and found a seat in a palm-screened corner.
Jimmy had begged her to mix more with other people, and not stay in her
room so much. If he came in now he would be pleased to see that she
had done as he asked her, she thought with a little thrill.
She could look ahead now, and make plans for their future. She would
consent to leaving London at once, and going somewhere where Cynthia
Farrow's influence had never made itself felt. She would start all
over again; she would be so tactful, so patient. She would win him
over to her; make him love her more than he had ever loved Cynthia.
Her face glowed at the thought; her eyes shone like stars. She lost
herself in happy introspection.
"Yes--rotten hard luck, isn't it?" said a voice somewhere behind her.
"Just when she's on the crest of the wave, as you might say.
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