"
He dashed off a few lines, folded the sheet of note paper and
handed it to Mrs. Strong. He had written nothing he was unwilling
for her to read. In fact, he expected her to read it as soon as
she was safely out of his sight.
"She thinks she may feel up to seeing you tomorrow--or next day,"
reported the housekeeper on her return from Alix's room.
His rankling brain seized upon the words--" tomorrow--next day." He
had used them himself only the night before. "Tomorrow,--or next
day!" He frowned. Hang it all, was she putting him off? He experienced
a slight chill.
"I will run in again in the morning," he said, managing to produce
a sympathetic smile. "And I'll telephone this evening to see how
she is."
All the way down the walk to the gate, he kept repeating the words
"tomorrow,--or next day." In some inexplicable way they had fastened
themselves upon him. At the gate he turned and looked up at Alix's
bedroom windows. The lace curtains hung straight and immovable. It
pleased him to think that she was peering out at him from behind
one of those screens of lace, soft-eyed and longingly. Moved by a
sudden impulse, he waved his hand and smiled.
His guess was right. She WAS looking down through the narrow slit
between the curtains. Her eyes were dark and brooding and slightly
contracted by the perplexity that filled them. She started back in
confusion, her hand going swiftly to her breast.
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