She looked up over that hand which
smelled of tobacco. Her heart was doing the grand ecart within her, this
way in compunction, that way in resentment. His eyes fell before hers;
he dropped his hand.
"Well, shall we begin?" she said.
He answered roughly: "No," and went out into the garden.
Gyp was left dismayed, disgusted. Was it possible that she could have
taken part in such a horrid little scene? She remained sitting at the
piano, playing over and over a single passage, without heeding what it
was.
IV
So far, they had seen nothing of Rosek at the little house. She wondered
if Fiorsen had passed on to him her remark, though if he had, he would
surely say he hadn't; she had learned that her husband spoke the truth
when convenient, not when it caused him pain. About music, or any
art, however, he could be implicitly relied on; and his frankness was
appalling when his nerves were ruffled.
But at the first concert she saw Rosek's unwelcome figure on the other
side of the gangway, two rows back. He was talking to a young girl,
whose face, short and beautifully formed, had the opaque transparency
of alabaster. With her round blue eyes fixed on him, and her lips just
parted, she had a slightly vacant look. Her laugh, too, was just a
little vacant. And yet her features were so beautiful, her hair so
smooth and fair, her colouring so pale and fine, her neck so white and
round, the poise of her body so perfect that Gyp found it difficult to
take her glance away.
Pages:
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107