Though Anne did not understand all that was in this look, it moved her deeply.
Then the song came to an end. The following silence cooled Anne’s soul. Her greenish blue eyes looked frigidly into the air, her eyelids became immobile. When she turned to Illey her face was reserved, impenetrable. She wanted to screen what she had shown of herself, as if she were ashamed of it.
The others too assumed this ordinary expression. Everybody returned to everyday soberness. Netti brought the lamp in. It was evening.
Before the week was over Thomas Illey called again at the old house. He came alone, Martha had gone into the country.
“To the mother of her fiancé,” said Illey. “It is an old engagement. The wedding will be in autumn. Then that worry will be over too.”
He said no more about it. On the whole he spoke little. Nor did Anne say much, but the silence between them was bright and happy.
Tini’s knitting needles clattered rapidly underneath the lamp-shade; and the expression of her long, stiff face was that of an elderly person contemplating spring through the window.
Now and then Anne started, as if his look had called to her by name. She smiled at Thomas over the embroidery screen, then bent her head down again and the stones of her rings sparkled at regular intervals as she drew the silk upwards.
John Hubert came up from the office. Mamsell Tini stuck her knitting needles into the ball of wool. She got up. Her steps died away in the corridor and John Hubert spoke again about business, the town and building.