“Yes, you are a beautiful and an intricate woman,” he said quietly.
Deane quickly withdrew her hand. She was surprised at the instantaneous feeling of revulsion which came over her. There had been no possessiveness in Roberts’ action—no suggestion of desire or intimacy. It had been the movement of a child. But the contact had chilled her. What was the quality about him that disturbed her now? Could it be a strong jealousy of his interest in Martin? She could see Roberts stiffen in the semi-darkness.
“I beg your pardon,” he said, with hauteur. “My remark was entirely impersonal.”
“I know,” she said gently. Then, annoyed with herself, she added, “I was thinking of Drew. To-night he arrives in France. I wonder if it is snowing there.”
The adviser dropped his shoulders.
“It is snowing everywhere,” he said gravely. And as he assisted Deane out of the car, he repeated, “—everywhere.”
Feeling his wild and plaintive loneliness and his sorrow, Deane stepped quite close to him, resting her gloved hand on his sleeve.
“William!” she murmured softly.
For one moment, their antipodal forces swung into parallel; and, so going, Deane and Roberts smiled together.