“At what time do you intend to go?” he asked her.
She turned her face away from him. The bright sun, on that open lawn with the windows of the villas glittering full at them, was cruel to her young face at this moment; it probed its pallor and revealed its weariness. Her lips were trembling. She said, away from him, very quietly:—
“Before luncheon, in less than an hour, if possible. By car.”
She turned her face to him again, controlled now.
“When I woke up this morning I decided I couldn’t bear all this another minute. But are you sure you would like to come?” She asked it as though they were going to a tiresome function which would weary them both.
“Yes, very much,” he said gravely. He wondered what on earth she had expected him to say—be enthusiastic? She wasn’t enthusiastic....
“I’d better go and tell some one to pack my things,” he said, but made no movement.
“I’ve told them,” she said in her suddenly absent way. Where on earth did Virginia get to when her eyes looked like that? Those sentinels.... He felt flat.
And then she gave a little laugh, and with it something of her manner returned.
“On the other hand,” she said, “I’d better go and supervise my own packing. It’s a bit complicated, this hot to-day and cold to-morrow....”