“Tell her who it is;—that it’s important.”
In another moment Dilsey opened the door, and ushered him into the outer room. It was a square apartment, bare and rough, lighted only from above; its sole article of furniture was a divan in the centre; an inner door led to the bath-room beyond. Upon the divan Cicely was lying, her head propped by cushions, the soft waves of her hair loose on her shoulders. Delicate white draperies, profusely trimmed with lace, enveloped her, exhaling an odor of violets.
“Cicely, where is Eve?” demanded Paul.
“Wait outside, Dilsey,” said Cicely. Then, when the girl had disappeared, “She has gone to Charleston,” she answered.
“And from there?”
“I don’t know.”
“When did she start!”
“Two hours ago.”
—“Immediately after leaving me,” Paul reflected, audibly.
“Yes.”