She said it very naturally. If his appearance had startled her very much—and that it had startled her almost terribly he felt certain—she was now recovering her equanimity. Her self-possession was returning.
"Women are very absurd," she continued. "They always admire the man who gets on, who forces his way to the front of the crowd."
Walking onward slowly side by side they came into the great outer court. Isaacson had forgotten the wonderful temple. This woman had the power to grasp the whole of his attention, to fix it upon herself.
"Shall we sit down for a minute?" she said. "I'm quite tired with walking about."
She sauntered to a big block of stone on which a shadow fell, sat down carelessly, and put up a white and green sun-umbrella. For the first time since they had met Isaacson, remembering the death of Lord Harwich, wondered at her costume.
"Ah," she said, "you've heard, of course!"
He was startled by her sudden comprehension of his thought.
"Heard! what, Mrs. Armine?"
"About my brother-in-law's sudden death."
"I saw it in the paper."