On the other hand, since Lanyard had quite decided what he meant to do
about Liane in any event, her decision really didn't matter much; and
he refused to fret himself trying to forecast it. Whatever it might
turn out to be, it would find him prepared, he couldn't be surprised.
There Lanyard was wrong. Liane was amply able to surprise him, and did.
Ultimately he felt constrained to concede a touch to genius in the
woman; her methods were her own and never poor in boldness and
imagination.
It was without ceremony that she walked in on him at length, having
kept him waiting so long that he had begun to wonder if she meant to
try on anything as crude as abandoning him, and posting off to
Cherbourg without a word to seek fancied immunity in New York, while he
remained in an empty house without money, papers of identification, or
even fit clothing for the street; for, on coming out of his bath,
Lanyard had found all of these things missing, the valet de chambre
presumably having made off with his evening clothes, to have them
pressed and repaired.
Liane was dressed for travelling, becomingly if with a sobriety that
went oddly with her cultivated beaute du diable, and wore besides a
habit of preoccupation which, one was left to assume, excused the
informality of her unannounced entrance.
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