The dampness and chill of the night had disappeared and the air was mild with the breath of coming spring. Mingling with the gulls' cries she could hear the twitter of sparrows and the occasional chirp of a robin. The village, still hazy in mist, was taking on sharper outlines and from the bay the voices of fishermen and the chug of a motor-boat drifted distinctly across the water.
Prince came bounding into the house from some distant pilgrimage of his own, almost knocking her down in his eagerness for breakfast.
She glanced far up the shore and saw, serenely rocking with the tide, _My Unknown Lady_.
As she whispered the name, she was conscious of hot blood rushing to her cheeks.
How ridiculous! Stanley Heath was simply a stranger of a night, he was nothing to her.
Well indeed was it, too, that he was not!
During her hours of sleeplessness the ardor of her faith in him had, to a degree, cooled. True, she still maintained her belief in his innocence; but that belief, she now realized, was only a blind unfounded intuition. Both the circumstances and sober second thought failed to back it up. The man's impatience to be gone, his complete silence with regard to the jewels, although perfectly justifiable, did not strengthen it.
Marcia conceded he had every right to keep his affairs to himself. She was close-mouthed and therefore sympathetic with the quality in others.
But such an unusual happening! What more natural than that one should offer some explanation?
Last night, transported by emotion to a mood superheroic, she had wished none; nay, more, she had deliberately placed herself beyond the reach of it. Today she toppled from her pedestal and became human, shifting from goddess to woman.
Had Stanley Heath started to confide his secret to her, she would even now have held up her hand to stay him.
It was the fact that through the dim hours of the night, while she sat at his elbow trying to make the discomforts he suffered more bearable, he talked of almost everything else but the thing uppermost in both their minds. That was what hurt. She did not want to know. She wanted to be trusted; to help; to feel his dependence upon her. Instead he held her at arm's length.
Oh, he voiced his gratitude for what she had done. He did that over and over again, apologizing at having caused her so much trouble. As if she minded! Why, she was glad, glad to be troubled!