at the prospect of Nina's recovery; hated Arthur because he had
forgotten her; hated Grace for telling her so; hated Victor for
saying he would rather see her dead than Richard's wife; hated
Mrs. Matson for coming in to ask her how she was; hated her for
staying there when she would rather be alone, and made faces at
her from beneath the sheet; hated everybody but Richard, and in
time she should hate him--at least, she hoped she should, for on
the whole she was more comfortable when hating people than she had
ever been when loving them. It had such a hardened effect upon
her, this hatred of all mankind, such a don't care influence, that
ahe rather enjoyed it than otherwise.

And this was the girl who, as that rainy, dismal day drew to its
close and the sun went down in tears, dressed herself with a firm,
unflinching hand, arranging her hair with more than usual care,
giving it occasionally a sharp pull, as a kind of escape valve to
her feelings and uttering an impatient exclamation whenever a pin
proved obstinate and did not at once slip into its place. She was
glad Richard was blind and could not see her swollen eyes, which,
in spite of repeated bathings in ice-water and cologne would look
red and heavy. Her voice, however, would betray her, and so she
toned it down by warbling snatches of a love song learned ere she
knew the meaning of love, save as it was connected with Richard.
It was not Edith Hastings who left that pleasant chamber, moving
with an unfaltering step down the winding stairs and across the
marble hall, but a half-crazed, defiant woman going on to meet her
DESTINY and biting her lip with vexation when she heard that
Richard had company--college friends, who being in Shannondale on
business had come up to see him.