He looked at her in surprise.
“This has been terrible for you, Mary,” he said. “I wish to God I could make you realize how very, very much I feel for you in what you must be going through....”
The phrase was formal and he brought it out irresolutely, chilled as he was by her reception. She was looking at him dispassionately, her forehead a little puckered, her eyes a trifle hard.
“Won’t you sit down,” she said. “There is something I wanted to say!”
He was looking at her now in a puzzled fashion. With rather feigned deliberation he chose a chair and sat down facing the fire. A lamp on the mantelpiece—the only light in the room—threw its rays on his face. His chin was set rather more squarely than his wont and his eyes were shining.
“Mary,”—he leant forward towards her,—“please forget what I said this afternoon. It was beastly of me, but I hardly knew what I was doing....”
She made a little gesture as if to wave his apology aside. Then, with her hands clasped in front of her, scanning the nails, she asked, almost casually:
“What did you say to Hartley Parrish in the library this afternoon?”
Robin stared at her in amazement.
“But I was not in the library!” he answered.