“Oh, Lord, throw your things into your boxes, and sit on them, darling!” said Colin. “If they’re spoiled you shall have new ones. But I can’t endure this island any more. We ought to have left before the weather broke, instead of stopping on.”
“But I really don’t think I can be ready,” she said. “Besides, you wanted to stay the night with Mr. Cecil. You can’t pounce on him.”
“As a matter of fact, I’ve just sent Giuseppe down to the telephone office to say that we shall arrive to-night,” said Colin.
Violet felt a justifiable rebellion at this; she choked it down with a not very convincing lightness.
“But, darling, you’re being too autocratic,” she said. “How would it be if you went and I caught you up to-morrow? Then you could have your adorable Mr. Cecil all to yourself.”
Colin turned on her with a blaze of white fury in his eyes. Of that she caught one glimpse, authentic and terrifying. Then, as if by some magical and instantaneous solvent, it melted before he spoke into his most charming mood.
“I know I oughtn’t to have telephoned, darling, until I had consulted you,” he said. “But it’s your fault; you’ve spoiled me. You’ve made me think that if I want to do a thing very much, you’ll agree to it. I apologise. It was stupid of me. Now if you really don’t want to come, just say so, and I’ll run down to the town and reverse my first message if it has gone. It shall be exactly as you like.”
Violet had to take one moment to steady herself. That glimpse of Colin, the most complete she had had yet of something that lay below, had gripped her very soul with terror. That stabbed at her and passed, and from whence it had come she knew not, nor whither it had gone. Only Colin remained.
“My dear, of course I’ll come,” she said.
“Ah, that’s delicious of you,” said he.