She left him standing there while the waiter bowed over the generous tip which lay upon the stained table-cloth.... At the door she turned for a last look. He was smiling at her, but it was a twisted smile.... She opened the door and went out....
When she arrived home Danilo was standing in the hall, slipping on his overcoat. She had a fear that he would make some comment about her late home-coming, but he said nothing—he merely nodded to her as he reached for his hat. She stood puzzled at his silence; there was something ominous about it, and her brain started guiltily as she thought, "Could it be possible that he has seen us together this afternoon?"
She began to take off her wraps. "Are ... are you going out?" she asked.
He stared at her. "Yes."
"Some one is ill.... I mean have you a sudden call?"
"Yes."
She did not know why she persisted in questioning him.
"You will be out late, then?"
"Yes.... I may not come home at all."
She moved nearer. The hall light struck him squarely. His look frightened her. There was not a bit of color in his face, and his lips were thinned as upon that first night when he had risen in his seat at the Café Ithaca and betrayed his love for her.