"And I want to meet Christine," she said.
He nodded.
"Rather."
"And it's been fine—our meeting again. But didn't you always know it would happen?"
"I believe I did. Yes, I did. I used to imagine——"
And then he knew and saw that she knew too. He saw it in the sudden darkening of her steady eyes, in the perplexity of her drawn brows. He felt it in her hand that scarcely moved, as though even now it would not shrink from whatever was the truth. It came and went like a flare of fire across the storm. And when it had gone, they could not believe that it had ever been. They were both shaken with astonishment. And yet, hadn't they always known?
"Good-night, Robert Stonehouse."
"Good-night."
But he could not move. He watched the blank door open, and her slender shadow stand out for a moment against the yellow gas-light of the hall. She did not look back. Perhaps she too was spell-bound. The door closed with an odd sound as though the house had clicked its tongue in good-natured amusement.
"Now you see how it happens, Robert Stonehouse!"