Part 50 (2/2)
PETER J. NOYES.
CHAPTER XXVI
FREEDOM
With the departure of Peter and his sister--Peter had made his leave-taking easy by securing an earlier train than she had expected and sending her a brief note of farewell--Marjory found herself near that ideal state of perfect freedom she had craved. There was now no outside influence to check her movements. If she remained where she was, there was no one to interrupt her in the solitary pursuit of her own pleasure. Safe from any possibility of intrusion, she was at liberty to remain in the seclusion of her room; but, if she preferred, she could walk the quay without the slightest prospect in the world of being forced to recognize the friendly greeting of any one.
Peter was gone; Beatrice was gone; and Monte was gone. There was no one else--unless by some chance poor Teddy Hamilton should turn up, which was so unlikely that she did not even consider it. Yet there were moments when, if she had met Teddy, she would have smiled a welcome. She would not have feared him. There was only one person in the world now of whom she stood in fear, and he was somewhere along the English coast, playing a poor game of golf.
She was free beyond her most extravagant dreams--absolutely free. She was so free that it seemed aimless to rise in the morning, because there was nothing awaiting her attention. She was so free that there was no object in breakfasting, because there was no obligation demanding her strength. She was so free that whether she should go out or remain indoors depended merely upon the whim of the moment. There was for her nothing either without or within.
For the first twenty-four hours she sat in a sort of stupor.
Marie became anxious.
”Madame is not well?” she asked solicitously.
”Perfectly well,” answered Marjory dully.
”Madame's cheeks are very white,” Marie ventured further.
Madame shrugged her shoulders.
”Is there any harm in that?” she demanded.
”It is such a beautiful day to walk,” suggested Marie.
Marjory turned slowly.
”What do you mean by beautiful?”
”Ma foi, the sky is blue, the sun is s.h.i.+ning, the birds singing,”
explained Marie.
”Do those things make a beautiful day?”
”What else, madame?” inquired the maid, in astonishment.
”I do not know,” sighed madame. ”All I know is that for me those things do not count at all.”
”Then,” declared Marie, ”it is time to call a doctor.”
”For what?”
”To make madame see the blue sky again and hear the birds.”
”But I do not care whether I see them or not,” concluded madame, turning away from the subject.
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