The day after their drive to the brown house was "library day," and
she sat at her desk working at the revised catalogue, while the Targatt
girl, one eye on the window, chanted out the titles of a pile of books.
Charity's thoughts were far away, in the dismal house by the swamp, and
under the twilight sky during the long drive home, when Lucius Harney
had consoled her with endearing words. That day, for the first time
since he had been boarding with them, he had failed to appear as usual
at the midday meal. No message had come to explain his absence, and Mr.
Royall, who was more than usually taciturn, had betrayed no surprise,
and made no comment. In itself this indifference was not particularly
significant, for Mr. Royall, in common with most of his fellow-citizens,
had a way of accepting events passively, as if he had long since come
to the conclusion that no one who lived in North Dormer could hope to
modify them. But to Charity, in the reaction from her mood of passionate
exaltation, there was something disquieting in his silence.
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