“That you, Mary?”
Robin was speaking.
“May I come up and see you? Or would you rather be left alone?”
His firm, pleasant voice greatly comforted her. Only then she realized how greatly she craved sympathy. But the recollection of Bude’s story suddenly interposed itself like a barrier between them.
“Yes, come up,” she said, “I want to speak to you!”
Her voice was dispirited,
“I don’t want to see him,” she told herself as she replaced the receiver, got up, and unlocked the door, “but I must know!”
A gentle tap came at the door. Robin came in quickly and crossed to where she stood by the fire.
“My dear!” he said and put out his two hands.
Her hands were behind her back, the fingers nervously intertwining. She kept them there and made no sign that she had observed his gesture.