It was too late now for the nursery tea, but they had come back and all was well.
“Dion!”
The step had stopped on the path and no voice answered her. Nevertheless she was certain that it was Dion who had come into the garden. Perhaps Robin was with him, perhaps they were going to give her a surprise. She waited for an instant. Something within her was hesitating. She conquered it, not without an effort, and went round the angle of the path. Beyond the shrubs, but not far from them, a man was standing. It was Dion. He was alone. It was so dark that Rosamund could not see him clearly, but she noticed at once that the outline of his figure looked strange. His body seemed to be all awry as if he were standing in an unnatural position. She stopped and stared at this body.
“Is anything wrong, Dion?” she asked. “What’s the matter? Why do you stand like that?”
After her last quick question she heard a long-drawn quivering breath.
“Where’s Robin?” she said sharply.
He did not answer. She meant to go up to him; but she did not move.
“Why are you so late? Where’s Robin?” he repeated.
“Rosamund—”
“Don’t move! Stand there, and tell me what it is.”