I think I have been not quite in my right mind
for some time. But I have a strong will and can force myself to
anything----"
"And you are forcing yourself to kill your love for me----"
"No. I am trying to learn to love you as a--a daughter, and I am
beginning to succeed. But if you insist in making scenes like this----"
He broke off and gave his shoulders an expressive shrug. "It is--not
womanly."
Then, breaking the yellow rose from the bush, he drew its stem through
his button-hole and strolled leisurely away, whistling under his breath.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
For two days Brigit Mead remained in her room, refusing to see anyone.
Tommy, who had reached the period when convalescents sleep most of the
time, was told that she was resting, and that he must be very good and
eat a great deal, with a view to surprising her by his progress when she
reappeared.
But the girl was not resting.
Up and down the two rooms she paced, day and night, her face set, her
hands clenched, talking aloud to herself sometimes, sometimes silent,
always thinking, thinking, thinking of Joyselle.
Had he ceased to love her, or was it merely a pose, or--ten thousand
theories occurred to her, to drive her perilously near madness in her
solitude.
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