She did not move her eyes from Wynne’s table, and after a moment a puzzled look came into her face. She had recognized his attitude. He always sat like that, with his head down and his fingers fidgeting, when he was irritated. But why now? A sudden insane desire possessed her to spring to her feet and cry aloud.
Then Esme’s eyes, wandering once more toward the clock, met hers, and in an instant Eve smiled and bowed. Esme looked surprised, and Eve smiled again.
“Some one over there knows me,” said Esme, “but I don’t know her. No, you mustn’t look, ’cos she’s too pretty.”
Wynne turned slowly in the direction indicated, and saw. His napkin dropped to the floor, and unsteadily he rose to his feet. He rubbed one hand over his eyes as though to clear the vision. He took a few quick steps to the centre of the room—stopped—then came on again.
And all the while Eve kept her eyes on his.
Beside her table he stopped, and looked from one to the other, his mouth twitching and his face strangely white.
“Yes—well?” he said, as if expecting they would be ready with explanation.
“What are you doing here?”
“Or you?” she answered.
“What’s he doing?”