“Noel's gone!” he said.
She answered, as if to his reflection in the glass
“And you haven't gone too? Ah, no! Of course—your leg! She fled, I suppose? It was rather a jar, my coming in, I'm afraid.”
“No; it was my coming in that was the jar.”
Leila turned round. “Jimmy! I wonder you could discuss me. The rest—” She shrugged her shoulders—“But that!”
“I was not discussing you. I merely said you were not to be envied for having me. Are you?”
The moment he had spoken, he was sorry. The anger in her eyes changed instantly, first to searching, then to misery. She cried out:
“I was to be envied. Oh! Jimmy; I was!” and flung herself face down on the bed.
Through Fort's mind went the thought: 'Atrocious!' How could he soothe—make her feel that he loved her, when he didn't—that he wanted her, when he wanted Noel. He went up to the bedside and touched her timidly:
“Leila, what is it? You're overtired. What's the matter? I couldn't help the child's being here. Why do you let it upset you? She's gone. It's all right. Things are just as they were.”