His pleasant, listless manner chilled her; she hesitated, then turned away, withdrawing her hand.
When she had seated herself on the sofa he dropped down beside her in his old place. She lighted a cigarette for him.
“Tell me about poor old Jack,” he said in a low voice.
Their dinner was a pleasant but subdued affair. Afterward she played for him––interrupted once by a telephone call from Ilse, who said that John’s temperature had risen a degree and the only thing to do was to watch him every second. But she refused Palla’s offer to join her at the hospital, saying that she and the night nurse were sufficient; and the girl went slowly back to the piano.
But, somehow, even that seemed too far away from her lover––or the man who once had been her avowed lover. And after idling-with the keys for a few minutes she came back to the lounge where he was seated.
He looked up from his revery: “This is most comfortable, Palla,” he said with a slight smile.
“Do you like it?”
“Of course.”
“You need not go away at all––if it pleases you.” Her voice was so indistinct that for a moment he did 320 not comprehend what she had said. Then he turned and looked at her. Both were pale enough now.
“That is what––what I was going to tell you,” she said. “Is it too late?”