If he had ceased to love her, she was helpless; and this sense of helplessness awoke a feeling of rage in her heart.

If he did not come back, she could never go after him.

She could only sit and wait until she grew as old and as ugly as Miss Amelia.
While the minutes, which seemed hours, dragged away, she wept the bitterest tears of her life--tears not of wounded love, but of anger because she could do nothing but wait.
While she wept the bell rang.

When she did not answer it, it rang again, and after an interminable pause the footsteps of Miss Amelia were heard descending the stairs.

Then the door opened and shut, the footsteps began their slow ascent of the stairs, and after an eternity of silence, she knew that George had entered the room.
Wiping her eyes on the ruffle of the sofa pillow, she sat up and faced him, while her pride hardened again.
"Gabriella, I have come back." "I see you have," she answered coldly, and choked over a sob.
"What are you crying about, Gabriella ?" "I--I have a headache." "Have you thought about me at all to-day ?" "A little." He laughed softly, the laugh of a conqueror.
"I'm glad at least that I didn't give you the headache." "You didn't.