“So you won't?”
The girl trembled violently all over. She moistened her lips, tried to speak, failed, again moistened them, and this time murmured; “I'll only—I'll only—if he tells me!”
“So you still imagine he will tell you!”
The little model merely repeated: “I won't—won't do anything without he tells me!”
Bianca laughed. “Why, it's like a dog!” she said.
But the girl had turned abruptly to the window. Her lips were parted. She was shrinking, fluttering, trembling at what she saw. She was indeed like a spaniel dog who sees her master coming. Bianca had no need of being told that Hilary was outside. She went into the passage and opened the front door.
He was coming up the steps, his face worn like that of a man in fever, and at the sight of his wife he stood quite still, looking into her face.
Without the quiver of an eyelid, without the faintest trace of emotion, or the slightest sign that she knew him to be there, Bianca passed and slowly walked away.