Did she know? Had she heard? Possibly not.
Henry got slowly, indecisively up and wandered to the piano; stood leaning on it.
His eyes filled. All at once, in his mind's eye, he could see Cicely. Particularly the sensitive mouth. And the alert brown eyes. And the pretty way her eyebrows moved when she spoke or smiled or listened—always with a flattering attention—to what you were saying.
He brought a clenched fist down softly on the piano.
3
'Oh,' cried the voice of Cicely—'there you are! How nice of you to come!'
She was standing—for a moment—in the doorway.
White of face, eyes burning, his fist still poised on the piano, he stared at her.
She didn't know! Surely she didn't—not with that bright smile. __
She wore the informal, girlish costume of the moment—neatly fitting dark skirt; simple shirt-waist with the ballooning sleeves that were then necessary; stiff boyish linen collar propping the chin high, and little bow tie; darkish, crisply waving hair brought into the best order possible, parted in the middle and carried around and down over the ears to a knot low on the neck.