She left early the next morning, a grim little person who bent over the sleeping boy hungrily, and insisted on carrying her own bag down the stairs. Harmony did not go to the station, but stayed at home, pale and silent, hovering around against Jimmy's awakening and struggling against a feeling of panic. Not that she feared Peter or herself. But she was conventional; shielded girls are accustomed to lean for a certain support on the proprieties, as bridgeplayers depend on rules.
Peter came back to breakfast, but ate little. Harmony did not even sit down, but drank her cup of coffee standing, looking down at the snow below. Jimmy still slept.
“Won't you sit down?” said Peter.
“I'm not hungry, thank you.”
“You can sit down without eating.”
Peter was nervous. To cover his uneasiness he was distinctly gruff. He pulled a chair out for her and she sat down. Now that they were face to face the tension was lessened. Peter laid Anna's list on the table between them and bent over it toward her.
“You are hurting me very much, Harry,” he said. “Do you know why?”
“I? I am only sorry about Anna. I miss her. I—I was fond of her.”
“So was I. But that isn't it, Harry. It's something else.”
“I'm uncomfortable, Peter.”