CHAPTER XXAll night Jean's senses, captured for the first time, had ridden her hard. It was in vain that she told herself that nothing had happened except that one of Cleopatra's ladies had looked at Antony. Quite apart from the risk she ran from Cleopatra, the look had been wasted. Mark Antony's heart, 'pursed up upon the river of Cydnus,' had done no more than cast a brief glance back.
Jean tried to comfort herself with the thought that she had escaped suspense. Hopeless love is spared the torment of trying to attract its object. She could just go on with her work. There was a pile of letters, lying before her in her little sitting-room, to keep her heart at bay. The fog still shut out the world; the artificial light gave her a vague sense of discomfort, as if the morning had already go
