Mingling with this imperfect theology, she felt she could have proved to him also that a brunette and a woman of her experience was better than an immature blonde.

She began to loathe herself for coming hither, and dreaded to meet his face.

Here a sudden thought struck her.

What if he had not come here?
What if she had been mistaken?
What if her rash interpretation of his absence from the wood that night was simple madness?
What if he should return--if he had already returned?
She rose to her feet, whitening yet joyful with the thought.

She could return at once; what was the girl to her now?
Yet there was time to satisfy herself if he were at HER house.