The smile left his lips.
"Come here to me," he said slowly. His voice had no expression in it; he spoke as an automaton might have spoken, but Sophy took a few reluctant steps in his direction. Then she stopped again and said:
"I do so hate to be late! Won't you start now?"
His eyes opened wide, and he threw a look at her like a missile. It was what Sophy knew as his "red look." She went swiftly up to him.
"There," she said; "show me what you want to, and then we'll go."
But his eyelids had drawn together again, and he looked up at her with his mocking smile. Yes; his face was slightly swollen—puffy about the lips and eyes.
"Won't you show it to me, Cecil?" she asked.
"I've changed my mind," he drawled.
Something in Sophy's breast shrivelled.
"Very well," she said quietly; "then we can go at once."