She spoke in a busy tone, and went on turning the coat about, jerking at the buttons, and plunging her hands into the pockets.
Gault felt that the pleasure of thus sitting and looking at her was sapping his resolution. He felt himself drifting away, aimless and irresponsible, on the current of the moment. The duties of past and future were lost sight of in the dreamy satisfaction of watching the light on her hair and the movements of her hands.
He rose suddenly and walked to the window, with a remark about seeing if the fog was lifting. As he turned, he saw her take a folded paper from one of the coat-pockets, and, standing looking out of the window, heard the crisp rustling of the paper as she unfolded it. There was a moment of perfect silence, and then he heard again the same light rustling, which sounded curiously loud and intrusive to his irritated nerves.
He turned toward her, wondering why she did not speak. She was sitting with the opened paper in her hands, her eyes riveted on it. As he drew near, he saw that the rustling rose from the fact that her hands were trembling violently, causing the paper to vibrate.
She heard his approaching step and looked up. At the sight of her face he stopped.
“What is it?” she cried, rising suddenly to her feet and holding it out toward him.
He glanced at it. It was the colonel’s duplicate memorandum. Without aid or provocation the hour of revelation had come.
His first impulse was to seize it. But she drew it back from him, repeating in a high, strained voice:
“What is it? I don’t understand. What is it?”
“It’s nothing—nothing but a business paper. Give it to me.”