In the course of a week what Polly called her attack of temperament wore itself out, and she conceded unwillingly that she might possibly have been unjust. Might have developed an unsuspected capacity for exaggeration. Her brain had felt as if a hot wind were blowing through it. When it whispered itself off, particularly after her brother had given her a bromide and she had enjoyed one night of unbroken sleep, she blushed a little as she regarded herself in the mirror, and peered at her fine brow anxiously. Horrid to have been a mere female. And Eustace may not have spoken, after all. Hard to tell what a man would or wouldn’t do when the throttled beast in him broke loose. She had never seen Gita frightened, but anyone, even an amazon, might be susceptible to fear once in her life. Then her conscience became active. Love Gita again she never could. That was over. But she could do the decent thing. Moreover, she was curious to see how Polly was conducting her campaign. She telephoned to the manor and told Topper to inform Mrs. Bylant she would be over at once. She knew that Geoffrey, mortified at her behavior, had told Gita she was in bed with a heavy cold, and at least she would be spared the discomfort of an apology. But she sighed. She had lost something. She had a curious feeling of emptiness behind that lofty brow. Well, life was life. CHAPTER XVIII Gita was sitting on the edge of her bed when Topper brought Elsie’s message. “Tell her to come up—no, show her into the drawing-room.” She had been beating her heels on the floor, frowning at the window. It was open and voices drifted up from the garden. They were Polly’s and Geoffrey Pelham’s. It had been a trying week! Another “wooing game.” Polly had “wooed” Geoffrey under her very nose. Exercised every blandishment in her repertory. Anxious when her surgeon was anxious. Gay when his brow relaxed. Sweet, womanly, inexhaustibly and multifariously charming. A white vamp! And Geoffrey almost clung to her. She ought to hate her but she didn’t. Odd, but after all, why should she? Certainly, she couldn’t accuse her of treachery; Polly knew nothing of her feeling for Geoffrey. If Mrs. Pleyden had implanted a doubt in her daughter’s egotistical bosom, she had been given the opportunity to pluck it out and had succeeded. She had been sincere enough that day. The lid was still on! And hadn’t she conclusively renounced Geoffrey Pelham to Polly that night when she had taken out her soul and skewered it? Why shouldn’t someone find happiness in this world if such a thing as happiness really existed? “Oh, Lord, what a mess!” She sighed. “Eustace wants me. Elsie wants Eustace. Polly wants Geoffrey. Geoffrey wants me. And I? Nothing apparently. I feel as empty as an old hogshead on a junk-pile.”