At the door she stumbled, and she was hardly sure of her steps to her cab, which was drawn up by the curbstone, and in which she presently went blindly home.
By ten o'clock that night she had herself, in a manner, in hand again.

Her eyes were still wide and bitter, and the baffled, uncomprehending look had not quite gone out of them, but a line or two of cynical acceptance had drawn themselves round her lips.

She had sat so long and so quietly regarding the situation that she became conscious of the physical discomfort of stiffened limbs.
She leaned back in her chair and put her feet on another, and lighted a cigarette.
"No, Buddha," she said, as if to a confessor, "don't think it of me.

It was a lie, a pose to tempt him on.

I would never have given it up--never! It is more to me -- I am _almost_ sure--than he is.