CHAPTER XVI

IN WHICH THE MIRROR IS HELD UP TO HUMAN NATURE


When, the next day, Nancy went to pay her promised visit to Mrs.
Eversley, the rectory was steeped in the deep household peace of
mid-afternoon. Both Allan and Bernal had gone out soon after luncheon,
while Aunt Bell had withdrawn into the silence, there to meditate the
first letters of the alphabet of the inexpressible, to hover about the
pleasant line that divides the normal from the subliminal.

Though bruised and torn, Nancy was still grimly upright in the eye of
duty, still a worthy follower of orthodox ways. Buried in her own
eventful thoughts in that mind-world where love is born and dies, where
beliefs rise and perish but no sound ever disturbs the stillness, she
made her way along the shaded side of the street toward the Wyeth
residence. Not until she had passed several doors beyond the house did
she recall her errand, remember that her walk led to a goal, that she
herself had matters in hand other than thinking, thinking, thinking.

Retracing her steps, she rang the bell and asked for Mrs. Eversley.
Before the servant could reply, Mrs. Wyeth rustled prettily down the
hall from the library at the back. She wore a gown of primrose yellow.
An unwonted animation lighted the cold perfection of her face, like fire
seen through ice.