CHAPTER XX“And now what?” Hilary Collier asked herself, when a hot, damp, breathless, and sunless morning succeeded the night, and she found herself still oddly happy in the memory of that amazing hour with Kronski. For the mysterious emotion lasted, and deepened, and strengthened, going with her like an invisible aura throughout all the commonplaces of her day.
She dressed with a certain electric interest; there was something new in life. She found herself consciously enjoying the touch of silk stockings, the brushing of her masses of hair, and the frail stiffness of her dark swiss office dress. She dreamed smilingly over her breakfast, and as she went through the garden, in her wide, shady hat, pinned a great, heavy-headed rose against her frilled collar.
The day steamed with sickening
