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Page 61
"Yes," answered Lloyd, "very much better," adding: "I shall be down to
supper to-night."
For some reason that she could not explain Lloyd took unusual pains with
her toilet, debating long over each detail of dress and ornament. At
length, toward five o'clock, she was ready, and sat down by her window,
a book in her lap, to await the announcement of supper as the condemned
await the summons to execution.
Her plan was to delay her appearance in the dining-room until she was
sure that everybody was present; then she would go down, and, standing
there before them all, say what she had to say, state the few bald facts
of the case, without excuse or palliation, and leave them to draw the
one inevitable conclusion.
But this final hour of waiting was a long agony for Lloyd. Her moods
changed with every moment; the action she contemplated presented itself
to her mind in a multitude of varying lights. At one time she quivered
with the apprehension of it, as though at the slow approach of hot
irons. At another she could see no reason for being greatly concerned
over the matter. Did the whole affair amount to so much, after all? Her
companions would, of their own accord, make excuses for her. Risking
one's life in the case of a virulent, contagious disease was no small
matter. No one could be blamed for leaving such a case. At one moment
Lloyd's idea of public confession seemed to her little less than
sublime; at another, almost ridiculous. But she remembered the case of
Harriet Freeze, who had been unable to resist the quiet, unexpressed
force of opinion of her fellow-workers. It would be strange if Lloyd
should find herself driven from the very house she had built.
The hour before supper-time seemed interminable; the quarter passed,
then the half, then the three-quarters. Lloyd imagined she began to
detect a faint odour of the kitchen in the air. Suddenly the remaining
minutes of the hour began to be stricken from the dial of her clock with
bewildering rapidity. From the drawing-room immediately below came the
sounds of the piano. That was Esther Thielman, no doubt, playing one of
her interminable Polish compositions. All at once the piano stopped,
and, with a quick sinking of the heart, Lloyd heard the sliding doors
separating the drawing-room from the dining-room roll back. Miss
Douglass and another one of the nurses, Miss Truslow, a young girl, a
newcomer in the house, came out of the former's room and went
downstairs, discussing the merits of burlap as preferable to wall-paper.
Lloyd even heard Miss Truslow remark:
"Yes, that's very true, but if it isn't sized it will wrinkle in damp
weather."
Rownie came to Lloyd's door and knocked, and, without waiting for a
reply, said:
"Dinneh's served, Miss Searight," and Lloyd heard her make the same
announcement at Miss Bergyn's room farther down the hall. One by one
Lloyd heard the others go downstairs. The rooms and hallways on the
second floor fell quiet. A faint, subdued murmur of talk came to her
ears in the direction of the dining-room. Lloyd waited for five, for
ten, for fifteen minutes. Then she rose, drawing in her breath,
straightening herself to her full height. She went to the door, then
paused for a moment, looking back at all the familiar objects--the
plain, rich furniture, the book-shelves, the great, comfortable couch,
the old-fashioned round mirror that hung between the windows, and her
writing-desk of blackened mahogany. It seemed to her that in some way
she was never to see these things again, as if she were saying good-bye
to them and to the life she had led in that room and in their
surroundings. She would be a different woman when she came back to that
room. Slowly she descended the stairs and halted for a moment in the
hall below. It was not too late to turn back even now. She could hear
her companions at their supper very plainly, and could distinguish
Esther Thielman's laugh as she exclaimed:
"Why, of course, that's the very thing I mean."
It was a strange surprise that Lloyd had in store for them all. Her
heart began to beat heavy and thick. Could she even find her voice to
speak when the time came? Would it not be better to put it off, to think
over the whole matter again between now and to-morrow morning? But she
moved her head impatiently. No, she would not turn back. She found that
the sliding doors in the drawing-room had been closed, and so went to
the door that opened into the dining-room from the hall itself. It stood
ajar. Lloyd pushed it open, entered, and, closing the door behind her,
stood there leaning against it.
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