She rose in her turn and strolled towards the door, while Katrine stood helpless, her hand on the bell.
“Grizel!”
“Yes.”
“Don’t go!”
There was a look on her face, a tone in her voice, which arrested Grizel’s attention. Half-way across the room she paused, and studied her hostess with those eyes which looked so lazy, but which saw so uncommonly well. There was dread as well as annoyance on Katrine’s face.
“What will happen if I do? What is it you are afraid of?”
“He’ll be furious. Terribly angry.” But in her heart Katrine knew that this was not her fear. Her fear was lest Martin should not be angry.
Grizel considered, a slow smile curving her lips.
“But that,” she said, “would be amusing. Much more amusing than buying cabbages. I’d like to see Martin angry!”
She turned and continued her way. From her position by the bell Katrine could watch her progress up the staircase, could note the grace of the slim white form. “Her nose is red!” chanted the inner voice. “Her nose is red!” Amongst a medley of disagreeable reflections the thought appeared to stand out in solitary comfort. It was hardly more than a week since Grizel had arrived, eight days to be exact, yet to Katrine standing alone in the dark old room, it appeared that the whole structure of life had in that time undergone a radical change. It was not a change which could be registered in facts; the days had been spent in ordinary happenings, tea parties in neighbouring gardens, drives through the country lanes, small dinner parties, a day on the river. There was no single incident on which she could lay a finger and declare that here or there stood the dividing mark between past and present. The change was in the air; impalpable yet real; Katrine’s sensitive nature felt it in every fibre, inhaled it with every breath. Behind the peaceful, smiling exterior she divined a smouldering passion. The atmosphere was flecked with fire; it flamed beneath the most trivial words, the most trivial deeds. From an ice-bound solitude she looked on, understanding with a keenness of vision, as new as it was bitter. During the last days her mind had been incessantly occupied reviewing the past, searching it in the light of the present. Juliet, Grizel, and herself had been schoolmates at a French boarding-school. Grizel had accompanied her on a short visit to the married couple in the autumn after their marriage. That was the first time that Martin had seen her, and even in the midst of his bridegroom’s joy, he had been attracted, impressed. Then came two long, black years, at the end of which, taking her courage in both hands, she had enquired if Martin would object if Grizel came down for a few days. The mysterious storehouse of the brain had registered the moment, so that she could still see her brother’s face before her, as he lifted it from his book—the young, drawn face, with the haggard eyes. Something approaching a light of interest dawned in the wan depths.