At first she obeyed the force blindly.
"I must see him! I must see him!" The words spoke themselves in her head.
But when she had hurried out of the enclosure walled in by the cactus
hedge, the brilliant moonlight seemed to pierce her brain, and make a
cold, calm appeal to her reason.
"You can't tell him what you have heard," it said. "He would be
humiliated. Or"--the thought was sharp as a gimlet--"what if he _saw_
you, and knew you were listening? What if he talked just for effect? He
is so clever! He is subtle enough for that. And wouldn't it be more
_like_ the man, than to say what he said _sincerely_?"
She stopped, and was thankful not to see her husband returning. There was
time to go back if she hurried. And she must hurry! If he had seen her in
her hammock, and made that theatrical attempt to play upon her feelings,
he would laugh at his own success if she followed him. And if he had not
seen her, and were in earnest, it would be best--indeed the only right
way--not to let him guess that the scene on the veranda steps had had a
witness.
Annesley turned to fly back faster than she had come.
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