Six weeks had dropped off the calendar since the night at Martin's house.
Facing Grandmother Ludlow in the morning with her last handful of courage Joan had told her that she had been called back to town.She had left immediately after breakfast in spite of the protests and entreaties of every one, including her grandfather, down whose wrinkled cheeks the tears had fallen unashamed.With a high head and her best wilful manner she had presented to them all in that old house the bluff of easy-mindedness only to burst like a bubble as soon as the car had turned the corner into the main road.She had gone to the little house in New York, and with a numbed heart and a constant pain in her soul, had packed some warm-weather clothes and, leaving her maid behind, hidden herself away in the cottage, on the outskirts of Greenwich, of an old woman who had been in the service of her school.As a long-legged girl of twelve she had stayed there once with her mother for several days before going home for the holidays.She felt like a wounded animal, and her one desire was to drag herself into a quiet place to die.
It seemed to her then, under the first stupendous shock of finding that Marty was with that girl, that death was the next certain thing.Day after day and night after night, cut to the quick, she waited for it to lay its cold hand upon her and snuff her out like a tired candle, whose little light was meaningless in a brutal world.
Marty, even Marty, was no longer a knight, and she had put him into broadcloth.
Not in the sun, but in the shadow of a chestnut all big with bloom, her days had passed in lonely suffering.Death was in the village, that was certain.She had seen a little procession winding along the road to the cemetery the morning after her arrival.She was ready.
Nothing mattered now that Marty, even Marty, had done this thing while she had been waiting for him to come and take her across the bridge, anxious to play the game to the very full, eager to prove to him that she was no longer the kid that he thought her who had coolly shown him her door."I am here, Death," she whispered, "and Iwant you.Come for me."