Then she hurried to bed, grateful for the warm woolly blankets.
Relaxation and thought brought consciousness of the heat of her blood,
the beat and throb and swell of her heart, of the tumult within her. In
the lonely darkness of her room she might have faced the truth of her
strangely renewed and augmented love for Glenn Kilbourne. But she was
more concerned with her happiness. She had won him back. Her presence,
her love had overcome his restraint. She thrilled in the sweet
consciousness of her woman's conquest. How splendid he was! To hold
back physical tenderness, the simple expressions of love, because he had
feared they might unduly influence her! He had grown in many ways.
She must be careful to reach up to his ideals. That about Flo Hutter's
toil-hardened hands! Was that significance somehow connected with
the rift in the lute? For Carley admitted to herself that there was
something amiss, something incomprehensible, something intangible that
obtruded its menace into her dream of future happiness. Still, what had
she to fear, so long as she could be with Glenn?
And yet there were forced upon her, insistent and perplexing, the
questions--was her love selfish? was she considering him? was she blind
to something he could see? Tomorrow and next day and the days to come
held promise of joyous companionship with Glenn, yet likewise they
seemed full of a portent of trouble for her, or fight and ordeal, of
lessons that would make life significant for her.