XVII
EDNESDAY, Thursday and Friday were to be lived through. That was the thought that came to him first in the morning. The three days stretched before him blank and interminable. He regretted agreeing to the terms she had made. All sorts of doubts assailed him. Perhaps, after all, it had been with her merely an infatuation, a hysteria of sentiment that would wither under the first cold, gray light of morning. He had assured her that she loved him, and had believed it then, but supposing that her momentary fears had been well founded, that the love had been only a flash of passion born of the adventure, of the lights and music and the night with its wan moon and myriad stars, only a reflection of his own desire. Then to-day, or to-morrow, or the day after, would bring her counsel, and that Gordon feared. He sneered at the chivalry that had allowed her to slip away from
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