Hilyard.
A good many couples were sitting about outside, partaking of ices and
other forms of refreshment, and Ann made her way quickly through the hall
and bent her steps in the direction of the library where, earlier in the
evening, she had caught sight of a cosy fire. As she passed, she heard the
ring of a bell, followed by the sound of some late-comer being admitted.
She did not see who it was, and with a fleeting thought that whoever had
chosen to arrive so late would have small chance of securing good partners,
she slipped quietly into the library.
The fire had burnt down and she stirred it into a blaze before she settled
herself in a low chair beside it. She was genuinely glad to be alone for
a few minutes--glad of the peaceful quiet of the comfortable room with
its silent, book-lined walls and padded easy chairs. She had lost the
real spirit of enjoyment. Her old-time zest for dancing seemed to have
deserted her entirely, and the daily necessity of playing up in public, of
pretending to the world at large that all was well with her, was becoming
an increasing strain.
In addition to this, she was conscious to-night of a vague sense of regret.
In another few weeks the term of Robin's six months' notice would have
expired and they would both be going away from Silverquay.
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