"I remember reading," she groaned, "when at school, how conquerors
put their feet on the necks of their captives. He has put his
spurning foot on my heart. Oh, hateful riddle! Why should I love
the man that despises me?"
Her mother, and then Stanton, called at her door and asked her to
come down to supper.
"No," she said, briefly to each.
"If you knew what people were saying and surmising you would not
continue to make a spectacle of yourself," said her cousin, through
the closed door.
"That is one reason why I do not come down," she replied. "I'm
not in the mood to make a spectacle of myself. I have been shown
how one perfect member of society regards me, and I am not equal
to meeting any more faultless people to-night."
"Oh, nonsense!" cried Stanton, irritably. "You must come down."
"Break in the door then, and carry me down," was the sharp reply.
With a muttered oath he descended to the supper-room, and his
moody and absent manner revealed to Mrs. Mayhew and Van Berg that
his interview with his cousin had been anything but satisfactory.
For a time the artist seemed rather "distrait" also, as if a memory
were troubling him. He often looked around when any one entered,
and his eyes at times rested on Ida's vacant chair.
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