Anne’s hand had slid down from the embroidery frame and her eyes became dull as if all their lustre had melted away.
“You are going?” Her voice was very dim.
“What did you say?” asked Miss Tini, absent-mindedly. She stuck one of the knitting needles sideways into the knot of her hair and began to count the stitches.
Illey watched with silent despair the slow-moving lips of Mamsell as he impatiently twirled the old seal ring round and round.
“I am going to Martha’s wedding. I have some other business too, so who knows when I can come back again.”
Anne looked at the ring and then lifted her eyes to Thomas. She would have liked to tell him, implore him, to take her with him too, to abide faithfully by her as he clung to that ring and never leave her alone again.
“Come to-morrow with Christopher to the Palatine’s Island,” said Illey suddenly. His voice became harsh and commanding. “We shall meet at the pier.” Then he continued, more softly: “Do sing something....” He said this as if to clear the air of the grating vibrations of his former words.
“You really want me to?” Anne’s eyes blazed up. The dominating voice had made her feel as though Thomas had laid hands on her, as though he had bent her wrist with tender force. That unconscious delight of women in the humiliations of love flashed through her. She blushed and asked:
“What do you like? Schubert, Mozart or Schumann?”
“The voice of Anne Ulwing,” answered Illey simply, looking straight into her eyes.