She had meant to quarrel with him.
And then for the first time he had remembered Sylvia. That was her
reward--Sylvia's: it was Sylvia she was thinking of--for six years'
devoted friendship; for the help, the inspiration she had given him.
As Sylvia, she suffered from a very genuine and explainable wave of
indignant jealousy. As Ann, she admitted he ought not to have done
it, but felt there was excuse for him. Between the two she feared
her mind would eventually give way. On the morning of the second
day she sent Matthew a note asking him to call in the afternoon.
Sylvia might be there, or she might not. She would mention it to
her.
She dressed herself in a quiet, dark-coloured frock. It seemed
uncommittal and suitable to the occasion. It also happened to be
the colour that best suited her. She would not have the lamps
lighted.
Matthew arrived in a dark serge suit and a blue necktie, so that the
general effect was quiet. Ann greeted him with kindliness and put
him with his face to what little light there was. She chose for
herself the window-seat. Sylvia had not arrived. She might be a
little late--that is, if she came at all.
They talked about the weather for a while. Matthew was of opinion
they were going to have some rain. Ann, who was in one of her
contradictory moods, thought there was frost in the air.
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