His voice sounded strange to her. It was raised on the last word in order to give his remark a casual air, but it was forced. She wondered if he saw that she was shaking in every limb. It was only by an effort that she did not scream. He dropped his eyes.
“I’m just going to dress.”
He left the room. She was shattered. For two or three minutes she could not stir, but at last, raising herself from the sofa with difficulty, as though she had had an illness and were still weak, she found her feet. She did not know if her legs would support her. She felt her way by means of chairs and tables to the verandah and then with one hand on the wall went to her room. She put on a tea-gown and when she went back into her boudoir (they only used the drawing-room when there was a party) he was standing at a table looking at the pictures of the Sketch. She had to force herself to enter.
“Shall we go down? Dinner is ready.”
“Have I kept you waiting?”
It was dreadful that she could not control the trembling of her lips.
When was he going to speak?
They sat down and for a moment there was silence between them. Then he made a remark and because it was so commonplace it had a sinister air.
“The Empress didn’t come in to-day,” he said.
“I wonder if she’s been delayed by a storm.”
“Was she due to-day?”
“Yes.”
She looked at him now and saw that his eyes were
