It was a woman's questioning eyes
that had pierced through him.
During the rest of the day Gale was content to lie still on his bed
thinking and dreaming, dozing at intervals, and watching the
lights change upon the mountain peaks, feeling the warm, fragrant
desert wind that blew in upon him. He seemed to have lost the
faculty of estimating time. A long while, strong in its effect
upon him, appeared to have passed since he had met Thorne. He
accepted things as he felt them, and repudiated his intelligence.
His old inquisitive habit of mind returned. Did he love Nell?
Was he only attracted for the moment? What was the use of worrying
about her or himself? He refused to answer, and deliberately gave
himself up to dreams of her sweet face and of that last dark-blue glance.
Next day he believed he was well enough to leave his room; but Mrs.
Belding would not permit him to do so. She was kind, soft-handed,
motherly, and she was always coming in to minister to his comfort.
This attention was sincere, not in the least forced; yet Gale felt
that the friendliness so manifest in the others of the household
did not extend to her. He was conscious of something that a
little thought persuaded him was antagonism. It surprised and
hurt him. He had never been much of a success with girls and
young married women, but their mothers and old people had generally
been fond of him. Still, though Mrs. Belding's hair was snow-white,
she did not impress him as being old.
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