Лето
III
Shestoodwithherheadthrownbackagainstthewindow-frame,herarmshangingagainsthersides,andherhandssotightlyclenchedthatshefelt,withoutknowingwhathurther,thesharpedgeofhernailsagainstherpalms.
OfallMr.Royallhadsaidshehadretainedonlythephrase:“HetoldMissHatchardthebookswereinbadshape.”Whatdidshecarefortheotherchargesagainsther?Maliceortruth,shedespisedthemasshedespisedherdetractors.Butthatthestrangertowhomshehadfeltherselfsomysteriouslydrawnshouldhavebetrayedher!Thatattheverymomentwhenshehadfledupthehillsidetothinkofhimmoredeliciouslyheshouldhavebeenhasteninghometodenouncehershort-comings!Sherememberedhow,inthedarknessofherroom,shehadcoveredherfacetopresshisimaginedkisscloser;andherheartragedagainsthimforthelibertyhehadnottaken.
“Well,I’llgo,”shesaidsuddenly.“I’llgorightoff.”
“Gowhere?”SheheardthestartlednoteinMr.Royall’svoice.
“Why,outoftheiroldlibrary:straightout,andneversetfootinitagain.Theyneedn’tthinkI’mgoingtowaitroundandletthemsaythey’vedischargedme!”
“Charity—CharityRoyall,youlisten——”hebegan,gettingheavilyoutofhischair;butshewavedhimaside,andwalkedoutoftheroom.
Upstairsshetookthelibrarykeyfromtheplacewhereshealwayshiditunderherpincushion—whosaidshewasn’tcareful?—putonherhat,andsweptdownagainandoutintothestreet.IfMr
