She went forward to the fire that burned so mysteriously red and still, reaching out her cold hands to its comfort. She had a feeling that she ought to kneel and pray, but somehow in that strangely soothing atmosphere prayer was an impossibility. Her brain felt drugged and powerless, and she was numbly thankful for the respite.
"Come and sit down!" a cool voice said.
She turned with no surprise or agitation and saw Saltash lounging on a divan behind her. He had a cigarette between his fingers. The scent of it came to her with a strange allurement. Almost mechanically she accepted the invitation.
"Have you been here at all in my absence?" he asked, stretching a careless arm along the cushions behind her.
She shook her head. "No."
"But why not? Does Jake think I am not to be trusted?"
She smiled at that. "Oh no. Jake never interferes. But--somehow--I haven't wanted to make music lately."
"You are not happy," said Saltash, with conviction.
She coloured a little. "It has been an anxious time, Charlie, and, I am afraid, yet will be."
"You take things too hard," he said.