“O Adelaide!” he said, and it seemed to her he spoke with a sort of agony.
She held him away from her.
“Vincent, what is it?” she asked.
“What is what?”
“Is anything wrong?”
“Between us?”
Oh, she knew that method of his, to lead her on to make definite statements about impressions of which nothing definite could be accurately said.
“No, I won’t be pinned down,” she said; “but I feel it, the way a rheumatic feels it, when the wind goes into the east.”
He continued to look at her gravely; she thought he was going to speak when a knock came at the door. It was Pringle announcing the visit of Mr. Lanley.
Adelaide rose slowly to her feet, and, walking to her husband’s dressing-table, repinned her hat, and caught up the little stray locks which grew in deep, sharp points at the back of her head.