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It was--how shall I say it?--a night
effect when you seem to see vague shapes and don't know what reality you
may come upon at any time. Then she lowered her eyelids again, shutting
all mysteriousness out of the situation except for the sobering memory of
that glance, nightlike in the sunshine, expressively still in the brutal
unrest of the street.
"So Captain Anthony joined you--did he?"
"He opened a field-gate and walked out on the road. He crossed to my
side and went on with me. He had his pipe in his hand. He said: 'Are
you going far this morning?'"
These words (I was watching her white face as she spoke) gave me a slight
shudder. She remained demure, almost prim. And I remarked:
"You have been talking together before, of course."
"Not more than twenty words altogether since he arrived," she declared
without emphasis. "That day he had said 'Good morning' to me when we met
at breakfast two hours before. And I said good morning to him. I did
not see him afterwards till he came out on the road."
I thought to myself that this was not accidental.


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