Katharine tried to detect a shade of irony in the words; but they were spoken quite naturally, without the least underthought.
“I should like to see it,” she answered, quietly, after an instant’s silence.
“I’ll get it,” said Crowdie, “if you don’t mind waiting a minute. It’s in your dressing-room, isn’t it, Hester?” he asked, turning to his wife. “You were looking at it last night, just before you went to bed. I did it late in the evening,” he added, explaining to Katharine.
“Certainly,” she replied. “I’ll wait while you get it. I should really like to see it.”
Crowdie left the room, and her eyes followed him, and she disliked the undulating, feminine swing of his walk. He was badly made, having low, sloping shoulders, and being heavy about the waist, though he was not stout. He left the door open, and the two women waited in silence, not looking at one another. A moment later they heard Crowdie moving about overhead, where Hester’s dressing-room was situated, corresponding with the sitting-room in which they were. Hester listened intently, her eyes turned upwards towards the ceiling, as though they could help her to hear.
“He can’t find it,” she said. “I’d better go and help him—he’ll never find it alone.”
She made a step towards the door, paused, and listened again. The wrathful instinct grew stronger in Katharine. She imagined that Hester had thought of going upstairs in order to escape from the unpleasantness of being alone with her a little longer.
“If you’d finish buttoning my glove,” she said, calmly, “I’ll go without waiting. I’m very sorry, but I can’t do it myself.”
Hester’s eyebrows twitched irritably, but she bent over the outstretched hand, for she could not do otherwise. A moment later Crowdie’s footstep was heard on the stairs again, and he came in through the open door.
“I’ve hunted everywhere!” he exclaimed. “I can’t think where you’ve put it. I wish you’d go and find it for me, dear. It’s awfully stupid of me, I know!”