He wanted her to look at him. He had a foolish idea that he might send her a message with his eyes, asking for her understanding, and for her comradeship. But she seemed to be absorbed in her game, and was gay in altercation with her partner, General Bellasis. Bertram’s endeavour to establish communication with her was answered only by Lady Ottery.
“Don’t fidget, Bertram! My partner is sufficiently trying.”
Her partner was her husband, Ottery, who resented this slight upon his ability at bridge by a mild protest of “That’s unfair, my dear!”
The situation was ludicrous as far as Bertram was concerned. He knew that for him this was a night of crisis. He had made the great refusal, for what he believed to be conscience’ sake. He wanted passionately to talk it over with his wife. Some long emotional strain had reached its breaking point to-night in his relation to Joyce. His heart must speak to hers now, urgently. This polite, distant, unnatural way between them must be broken by plain talking, by the rough reality of human nature. He couldn’t wait any longer for that. They must have it out, once for all, and now. . . . But meanwhile Joyce played bridge with Bellasis, and without looking at him.
He would make her look.
While Bellasis was writing down the last results of play, Bertram went to their table and bent over Joyce with his hand on her shoulder. She gave a little shrug, which he knew meant to say, “Take your hand away,” but he kept it there, heavily, and spoke to her.
“I want to speak to you, Joyce, presently. After your game.”
“Hasn’t there been enough talk?” she asked, impatiently.
“No,” he said, “there’s got to be more. I’ve something important to say.”
Lady Ottery tapped his hand with a card case.