“Yes?” she said. She was leaning upon the balcony again, and in such a way now that he could no longer see her profile. But her fingers were busy at the pearls once more, and this he saw, and seeing, recovered himself.
“You have something to say to me?” he questioned in his smooth, level voice.
Had he not looked away as he spoke he might have observed that her fingers tightened their grip of the pearls almost convulsively, as if to break the rope. It was a gesture slight and trivial, yet arguing perhaps vexation. But Tremayne did not see it, and had he seen it, it is odds it would have conveyed no message to him.
There fell a long pause, which he did not venture to break. At last she spoke, her voice quiet and level as his own had been.
“It is about Una.”
“I had hoped,” he spoke very softly, “that it was about yourself.”
She flashed round upon him almost angrily. “Why do you utter these set speeches to me?” she demanded. And then before he could recover from his astonishment to make any answer she had resumed a normal manner, and was talking quickly.
She told him of Una’s premonitions about Dick. Told him, in short, what it was that Una desired to talk to him about.
“You bade her come to me?” he said.
“Of course. After your promise to me.”