She saw nothing more of Mr. Fletcher that
day, but the sound of excited voices in the drawing-room assured her
that madame was having it out with her brother; and with truly
feminine inconsistency Christie hoped that she would not be too hard
upon the poor man, for, after all, it was kind of him to overlook
the actress, and ask the governess to share his good things with
him.
She did not repent, but she got herself to sleep, imagining a bridal
trip to Paris, and dreamed so delightfully of lost splendors that
the awakening was rather blank, the future rather cold and hard.
She was early astir, meaning to take the first boat and so escape
all disagreeable rencontres, and having kissed the children in their
little beds, with tender promises not to forget them, she took a
hasty breakfast and stepped into the carriage waiting at the door.
The sleepy waiters stared, a friendly housemaid nodded, and Miss
Walker, the hearty English lady who did her ten miles a day, cried
out, as she tramped by, blooming and bedraggled:
"Bless me, are you off?"
"Yes, thank Heaven!" answered Christie; but as she spoke Mr.
Fletcher came down the steps looking as wan and heavy-eyed as if a
sleepless night had been added to his day's defeat.
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