“How quietly you came in,” she said. And he was amazed at her looks. Virginia was startling white to-day—not ill particularly, but just white, so that her red mouth looked wanton and peculiar, a carmine, flaunting mouth. It looked quite strange to him, her mouth: she had put on too much lip-salve, being ill. And her eyes were dark, dead blue, like inland seas in sultry weather.
“I didn’t come to lunch, dear, because——”
“Oh, yes, yes!” she abruptly stopped him; and abruptly got up from the stool. She took a cigarette from a box on a little table.
“And I don’t want to hear about that,” she said sharply, right at him. “So don’t, please, go on about it....”
“But I say, Virginia——” he began out of his surprise, and then had to stop because of it. He stared at the white face a yard away from him, and at the eyes. Good God, they were quite livid—with something! He tried to smile. This was too silly....
“We’ll make it quite all right about that—that letter, you know,” he assured her, rather lamely. “We’ll find a way out, somehow....”
“Oh, for pity’s sake don’t go on about it!” she cried bitterly. “You’re always pestering and pestering, Ivor. You never let a thing alone—but never! You get on my nerves....” Her voice was sharp, and it hurt, like a silken thread ripped across a finger.
“I’m bored with the whole subject,” she added wearily, turning away. “And if you’ve read my letter there’s no more to say.”
And then she turned back to him with a queer, strained look. Maybe she was trying to appear reasonable—in spite of him!
“Now please let us talk of something else, Ivor.”