Chapter XII

Adventure

It was late afternoon when Helen came down
from her room. She had regained her calm.
The Judge had gone about his affairs, her aunt
was deep in her siesta, the Mexican woman was
bustling about in the kitchen. Refusing this kindly
soul's offer of food, she walked listlessly into the
library and sank into a huge chair. Spring was
well advanced, yet there was an open fire. Elbows
upon the arms of her chair, hands clasped under
her chin, she turned unseeing eyes upon the flickering
flames. Motionless, barely breathing, she
was a picture of hopeless grief.

Yet her thoughts were active. One after another
the swift-moving events of the night before
came to her -- a night of delightful happenings and
torturing surprises. She recalled that the crowd
had been unusually gay, but that Stephen had
been unusually quiet and absorbed. She remembered
the games, and the story-telling, and the
toasting of marshmallows in the grate. But over
against these simple pleasures there had been
Stephen, entering into the gaiety only because he
must, now forcing a smile, now drawing back

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