“There is something wrong; there seems to be nothing, but something wrong all the time,” she thought with a sigh.
“If, after all the trouble I have taken, my plans should come to nothing, I shall be bitterly disappointed. I blame Connie. Con’s unworldliness is simply silly. Oh, these people!”
“It is a long time since I saw you, Johnny—four or five days, isn’t it?” Joan said. She held out her hand to him, and he took it. He seemed to hesitate, and then drew a little closer and kissed her cheek.
Something wrong. She too saw it, but it did not disturb her as it did Helen.
“Yes, four days—five—I forget,” he said, scarcely realising what an admission was this from him, who awhile ago had counted every hour jealously that had kept them apart.
For a few minutes they talked of indifferent things, each knowing it for a preliminary of something to follow.
He had come to tell her something, Joan felt.
“She has something to say to me,” Johnny knew. So for a few minutes they fenced, and then it was he who broke away.
He rose, and began to move about the room, as a man disturbed in his mind usually does. She sat calm and expectant, watching him, a faint smile on her lips, a kindness and a gentleness in her face that made it inexpressibly sweet.
“I think, Johnny, you have something to say to me.”