Gussy knew he was to arrive in town that morning, and, torn by painful doubts as she was, every moment of delay naturally seemed to her a further evidence that Edgar had other thoughts in his mind more important to him than she was. She had said nothing to anyone about expecting him, but within herself had privately calculated that by eleven o’clock at least she might expect him to explain everything and make everything clear. Eleven o’clock came, and Gussy grew _distraite_, and counted unconsciously the beats of the clock, with a pulsation quicker and quite as loud going on in her heart. Twelve o’clock, and her heart grew sick with the deferred hope, and the explanation seemed to grow dim and recede further and further from her. He had never mentioned Margaret in his letters, which were very short, though frequent; and Gussy knew that her brother, in wild impatience, had gone off two days before to ascertain his fate. But she was a woman, and must wait till her fate came to her, counting the cruel moments, and feeling the time pass slowly, slowly dragging its weary course. One o’clock; then luncheon, which she had to make a pretence to eat, amid the chatter of the girls, who were so merry and so loud that she could not hear the steps without and the knocks at the door. When they were all ready to go out after, Gussy excused herself. She had a headache, she said, and indeed she was pale enough for any headache. He deserved that she should go out as usual, and wait no longer to receive him; but she would not treat him as he deserved. When they were all gone she could watch at the window, in the shade of the curtains, to see if he was coming, going over a hundred theories to explain his conduct. That he had been mistaken in his feeling all along, and never had really cared for her; that Margaret’s beauty had been too much for him, and had carried him away; that he cared for her a little, enough to fulfil his engagements, and observe a kindly sort of duty towards her, but that he had other friends to see, and business to do, more important than she was. All these fancies surged through her head as she stood, the dark damask half hiding her light little figure at the window. The days had lengthened, the sounds outside were sounds of spring, the trees in the square garden were coloured faintly with the first tender wash of green. Steps went and came along the pavement, carriages drew up, doors opened and shut, but no Edgar. She was just turning from the window, half blind and wholly sick with the strain, when the sound of a light, firm foot on the stair caught her ears, and Edgar made his appearance at last. There was a glow of pleasure on his face, but care and wrinkles on his forehead. Was the rush with which he came forward to her, and the warmth of his greeting, and the light on his face, fictitious? Gussy felt herself warm and brighten, too, involuntarily, but yet would have liked best to sit down in a corner and cry.