MARIE had stopped dead, the blood rushing to her face, her hands nervously clutching the brim of the hat she had taken off when she entered.
Chris was almost as embarrassed as she. He colored to the roots of his hair and laughed awkwardly.
"So you've got back, Marie Celeste."
"Yes." And the dreadful pause fell again.
They both knew quite well that Miss Chester was watching them, but for the life of her Marie could not have moved a step towards him.
Then, at last, Chris said, "Well, aren't you going to give me a kiss?"
He was terribly nervous, which partially accounted for the lightness of the words, but Marie read no meaning into them, except the old dreaded indifference, and she turned her face away when he bent towards her, so that his kiss fell on her cheek.
"You look very well," he said, because it was the exact opposite to what he was thinking, and Marie said, "So do you," as she moved over to Miss Chester as if for protection, and sat down on the arm of her chair.
Chris lounged against the mantelshelf and stared up at the ceiling.
"Did you have a good time with Feathers?" he asked, bringing his eyes down to his wife's pale face.