She strove to sleep, but the nervous restlessness that possessed her
only drove her to the verge of feverish madness in the effort. The girl
was possessed of a waking nightmare not to be shaken off.
"What is it?" cried Mollie, impatiently, to herself. "What the
mischief's the matter with me? I never felt like this before. It can't
be remorse for some unacted crime, I never committed murder that I know
of. It can't be dyspepsia, for I've got the digestive powers of an
anaconda. It can't be the weather, for I've struggled through one or two
other rainy days in my life-time; and it can't be anxiety for to-night
to come, for I'm not apt to get into a gale about trifles. Perhaps it's
a presentiment of evil to come. I've heard of such things. It's either
that or a fit of the blue-devils!"
The long, wet, windy day wore on. Mr. Walraven slept through it
comfortably in his study. Mrs. Walraven had a _t?te-?-t?te_ luncheon
with her cousin, the doctor, and dawdled the slow hours away over her
tricot and fashion magazines.
Old Mme. Walraven rarely left her own apartments of late days.
Pages:
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204