And it increased, quite
unendurably, his agitation.
Gwenda was supernaturally calm.
In another instant the illusion that her presence had given him
passed. He saw what she had come for.
"Has anything gone wrong?" he asked.
She drew in her breath sharply.
"It's Alice."
"Yes, I know it's Alice. _Is_ anything wrong?" he said. "What is it?"
"I don't know. I want you to tell me. That's what I've come for. I'm
frightened."
"D'you mean, is she worse?"
She did not answer him. She looked at him as if she were trying to
read in his eyes something that he was trying not to tell her.
"Yes," he said, "she _is_ worse."
"I know that," she said impatiently. "I can see it. You've got to tell
me more."
"But I _have_ told you. You _know_ I have," he pleaded.
"I know you tried to tell me."
"Didn't I succeed?"
"You told me why she was ill--I know all that----"
"Do sit down." He turned from her and dragged the armchair forward.
"There." He put a cushion at her back. "That's better."
As she obeyed him she kept her eyes on him. The book he had been
reading lay where he had put it down, on the hearthrug at her feet.
Its title, "_Etat mental des hysteriques_;" Janet, stared at him. He
picked it up and flung it out of sight as if it had offended him. With
all his movements her head lifted and turned so that her eyes followed
him.
He sat down and gazed at her quietly.
"Well," he said, "and what didn't I tell you?"
"You didn't tell me how it would end.
Pages:
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180