He was standing anxiously near the door when she returned to the room.
“Please, sir, it’s a Mrs Cannon, and it’s you she wants.”
“Show her in,” he said, and to himself: “My God!”
In the ten seconds that elapsed before Hilda appeared he glanced at himself in the mantel mirror, fidgeted with his necktie, and walked to the window and back again to his chair. She had actually called to see him! ... His agitation was extreme... But how like her it was to call thus boldly! ... Maggie’s absence was providential.
Hilda entered, to give him a lesson in blandness. She wore a veil, and carried a muff—outworks of her self-protective, impassive demeanour. She was pale, and as calm as pale. She would not take the easy chair which he offered her. Useless to insist—she would not take it. He brushed away letters and documents from the small chair to his right, and she took that chair... Having taken it, she insisted that he should resume the easy chair.
“I called just to say good-bye,” she said. “I knew you couldn’t come out, and I’m going to-night.”
“But surely he isn’t fit to travel?” Edwin exclaimed.
“George? Not yet. I’m leaving him behind. You see I mustn’t stay away longer than’s necessary.”
She smiled, and lifted her veil as far as her nose. She had not smiled before.
“Charlie’s gone back?”