‘As you will. Good-bye; I will see you off on Saturday.’
A moment later, Rob spoke sharply over the balustrade:
‘One minute more; come back, I want a last word. Sit there, will you, just where I sat; no, don’t move the chair, let it face the table. Now lean your hands on your chin, so; now look up—what do you see?’
‘What do I see? I see myself—a portion of myself—in the glass.’
‘Hitch the chair this way, so that you can see your full face—now?’
‘Well, what of it?’
‘Tell me exactly what you see, in every detail.’
Rob had darkened the room and lit the gas; it was burning just in front and over Mark’s head, lighting up his face and shoulders, but leaving the room dark behind him.
‘What do I see? I see my face and head, my collar and tie, and my shoulders, and my arms down to the elbows, and of course the table where they rest.’
‘What do you see behind you?’