She rose to her feet straightening her hat mechanically as she did so, then as she became conscious of its existence, drew out the long pins, folded up her veil, removed the hat and laid it on the table. There was a finality in her action that struck Ferrati, and when she turned towards him her face startled him, so pale was it, so calm, so stamped with thoughtful decision.
"Ah, you are there, my friend," she said.
"Yes," he answered simply, adding, "I am going home now."
"Is he downstairs?"
"Yes, in the studio, very much subdued. I shall see him on my way out. Be as kind to him as you can—he is disposed to meet you half way."
A faint ironical smile crept over her face, then faded leaving it in its former marble like calm. She made no direct answer.
"After all life is a question of compromises."
He started—this from Ragna!
"You look surprised, my friend—I have grown older, and let us hope, wiser, since morning."
He made no comment, and turned to go.