When Mr.Mallett leaves, I will put the chains on and bolt everything." She was destined not to keep this promise.
* * * * * Bathed, her hair brushed and dressed, she suffered her maid to hook her into a gown which she could put off again unassisted--one of those gowns that excite masculine admiration by reason of its apparent inexpensiveness and extreme simplicity.

It was horribly expensive, of course--white, and cut out in a circle around her neck like a young girl's gown; and it suited Geraldine's slender, rounded throat and her dainty head with its heavy, loosely drawn masses of brown hair, just shadowing cheeks and brow.
When the last hook was looped she dismissed her maid for the night; Hilda served her at dinner, but she ate little, and the waitress bore away the last of the almost untouched food, leaving her young mistress seated before the fire and looking steadily into it.
The fire was a good one; the fuel oak and ash and beech.

The flames made a silky, rustling sound; now and then a coal fell with a softly agreeable crash and a swarm of golden sparks whirled up the chimney, snapping, scintillating, like day fireworks.
Geraldine sat very still, her mouth resting on her white wrist, and when she lifted her head the marks of her teeth showed on the skin.

Then the other hand, clutching the arm of her chair, fell to her side cramped and quivering; she stood up, looked at the fire, pressed both palms across her eyes, turned and began to pace the room.
To and fro she moved, slowly, quickly, as the craving for motion ebbed or increased.

At times she made unconscious movements with her arms, now flinging them wide, now flexing the muscles, clenching the hands; but always the arms fell helpless, hopeless; the slim, desperate fingers relaxed; and she moved on again, to and fro, up and down, turning her gaze toward the clock each time she passed it.
In her eyes there seemed to be growing a dreadful sort of beauty; there was fire in them, the luminous brightness of the tortured.