A staircase of fine and stately proportions descended from the
lofty reach of the upper story, dividing into two sweeping flights from
the landing. A massive mantel-piece was on the opposite side, with an
immense fireplace, and heavy brass andirons and fender. She was a
stranger to the interior of the place, for her visit to the locality
began after the closing of the hotel, but though she looked about with a
vague sub-current of interest as she sauntered through the building, glad
of any pretext to prolong her absence from the bungalow, her mind was
really introverted.
She felt that she could never forgive herself her part in the scene of
the morning, that wild, impulsive cry that voiced at once confession and
a plea for pardon. At the sheer recollection of his rejoinder she tingled
and winced as from the touch of fire. "Don't mention it," quotha. And
they neither had aught to regret--he was sure of that, forsooth! Regret!
It was only another name for her life. There was nothing but regret,
night and day, sleeping and waking.
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