Much to his surprise, he neither saw nor heard from Nancy until the hour appointed. She came very punctually. On opening the door to her, with an air of resolute cheerfulness, he saw something in her face that removed the necessity for playing a part. It was the look which had so charmed him in their love-days, the indescribable look, characteristic of Nancy, and of her alone; a gleam between smile and laughter, a glance mingling pride with submission, a silent note of personality which thrilled the senses and touched the heart.
‘What now?’ he asked, holding her hand and gazing at her. ‘Some good news?’
‘None that I know of. How hot your room is! Why, you look glad to see me!’
‘Was I ever anything else?’
She answered him with a smile.
‘It’s a very pleasant surprise,’ he continued, watching her as she threw off her out-door things. ‘I expected a doleful visage, eyes red with weeping.’
‘Did you? See how much a man thinks of himself! If you choose to go away, I choose to think as little of you as possible. That’s common sense—isn’t it?’
‘I don’t want you to cry about it.’
‘Oh yes, you do. It flatters you, and you like flattery. But I’ve been too obliging. I feel myself again, and there’s no more flattery for you—till you come back. I don’t ask you when that will be. I ask you nothing at all. I am independent of you.’
Tarrant grew uneasy. He feared that this mood of jest would change only too suddenly, and her collapse into feminine feebleness be the more complete.