His eyes rested on her with a look of separating her from the rest of the world—a soft, imperious look.
"You must come—I've only a few days left," he said.
Then he walked away slowly, and Teresa went upstairs. As she reached the landing a door opened and Nina came out with Edith. Edith passed Teresa without seeing her, and Teresa stared at her, fascinated. Edith was wrapped in a silk dressing-gown, her hair was carelessly rolled up; she had not stopped to think of her appearance. Her face was pale, her blue eyes looked intensely dark and large, her mouth was firmly set. Teresa did not know the flabby creature who had wept and hung upon them all. She held herself erect and walked quickly downstairs, and half-way down she turned and said with calm resolution:
"No, Nina, I don't want you."
Nina stopped, her hand on the railing, till Edith had gone into the drawing-room and shut the door. The two sisters, in Nina's room, could hear the murmur of voices echoing between the wooden walls. At first it was only Egisto's voice, harsh and vehement, pouring out a flood of rapid staccato Italian. Then Edith's, ringing and hard. Then the two together, rising in key, till what they said was audible. Nina shut her door and sat down, putting her hands over her ears.
