She shut herself
up in her stuffy little bedroom with its shrimp pink frills and
draperies and cried lamentably. At first she cried as a child might
who was suddenly snatched away in the midst of a party. Then she
began to cry because she was frightened. Numbers of cards "with
sympathy" had been left at the front door during the first week
after the funeral, they had accumulated in a pile on the salver
but very few people had really come to see her and while she knew
they had the excuse of her recent bereavement she felt that it made
the house ghastly. It had never been silent and empty. Things had
always been going on and now there was actually not a sound to be
heard--no one going up and down stairs--Rob's room cleared of all
his belongings and left orderly and empty--the drawing-room like a
gay little tomb without an occupant. How long WOULD it be before
it would be full of people again--how long must she wait before
she could decently invite anyone?--It was really at this point that
fright seized upon her. Her brain was not given to activities of
reasoning and followed no thought far. She had not begun to ask
herself questions as to ways and means. Rob had been winning at
cards and had borrowed some money from a new acquaintance so no
immediate abyss had yawned at her feet. But when the thought of
future festivities rose before her a sudden check made her involuntarily
clutch at her throat.
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