A clogging lassitude had descended upon
her, the reaction of cumulative nervous stress, anesthetizing her will,
her desires, her very limbs. She was purposeless, ambitionless, except
to lie and rest and seek for some resolution of peace out of the tangled
web wherein her own willfulness had involved her.
"The best possible thing," said Camilla Van Arsdale. "I'll write your
people that you are staying on for a visit."
"Yes; they won't mind. They're used to my vagaries. It's awfully good of
you."
At noon came Banneker to see Miss Welland. Instead he found a curiously
reticent Miss Van Arsdale. Miss Welland was not feeling well and could
not be seen.
"Not her head again, is it?" asked Banneker, alarmed.
"More nerves, though the head injury probably contributed."
"Oughtn't I to get a doctor?"
"No. All that she needs is rest."
"She left the station yesterday without a word."
"Yes," replied the non-committal Miss Van Arsdale.
"I came over to tell her that there isn't a thing to be had going west.
Not even an upper. There was an east-bound in this morning. But the
schedule isn't even a skeleton yet."
"Probably she won't be going for several days yet," said Miss Van
Arsdale, and was by no means reassured by the unconscious brightness
which illumined Banneker's face.
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