She looked into the bedroom; the bed was roughly made, as though by
the hand of man. Listening intently, she darted in, and peered into his
cupboards. A few shirts and collars, a pair of muddy boots--the room was
bare even of garments.
She stole back to the sitting-room, and now she noticed the absence of
all the little things he had set store by. The clock that had been his
mother's, the field-glasses that had hung over the sofa; two really
valuable old prints of Harrow, where his father had been at school, and
last, not least, the piece of Japanese pottery she herself had
given him. All were gone; and in spite of the rage roused within her
championing soul at the thought that the world should treat him thus,
their disappearance augured happily for the success of her plan.
It was while looking at the spot where the piece of Japanese pottery had
stood that she felt a strange certainty of being watched, and, turning,
saw Irene in the open doorway.
The two stood gazing at each other for a minute in silence; then June
walked forward and held out her hand. Irene did not take it.
When her hand was refused, June put it behind her. Her eyes grew steady
with anger; she waited for Irene to speak; and thus waiting, took in,
with who-knows-what rage of jealousy, suspicion, and curiosity, every
detail of her friend's face and dress and figure.
Irene was clothed in her long grey fur; the travelling cap on her head
left a wave of gold hair visible above her forehead. The soft fullness
of the coat made her face as small as a child's.
Unlike June's cheeks, her cheeks had no colour in them, but were ivory
white and pinched as if with cold. Dark circles lay round her eyes. In
one hand she held a bunch of violets.
She looked back at June, no smile on her lips; and with those great
dark eyes fastened on her, the girl, for all her startled anger, felt
something of the old spell.
She spoke first, after all.
"What have you come for?" But the feeling that she herself was being
asked the same question, made her add: "This horrible case. I came to
tell him--he has lost it."
Irene did not speak, her eyes never moved from June's face, and the girl
cried:
"Don't stand there as if you were made of stone!"
Irene laughed: "I wish to God I were!"
But June turned away: "Stop!" she cried, "don't tell me! I don't want to
hear! I don't want to hear what you've come for. I don't want to hear!"
And like some uneasy spirit, she began swiftly walking to and fro.
Suddenly she broke out: