'What are you doing?'
The question was mild and curious.
There was no answer. Then he opened the door.
'We've come back,' said Hermione. 'The daffodils are SO beautiful.'
'Yes,' he said, 'I've seen them.'
She looked at him with her long, slow, impassive look, along her
cheeks.
'Have you?' she echoed. And she remained looking at him. She was
stimulated above all things by this conflict with him, when he was like
a sulky boy, helpless, and she had him safe at Breadalby. But
underneath she knew the split was coming, and her hatred of him was
subconscious and intense.
'What were you doing?' she reiterated, in her mild, indifferent tone.
He did not answer, and she made her way, almost unconsciously into his
room. He had taken a Chinese drawing of geese from the boudoir, and was
copying it, with much skill and vividness.
'You are copying the drawing,' she said, standing near the table, and
looking down at his work. 'Yes. How beautifully you do it! You like it
very much, don't you?'
'It's a marvellous drawing,' he said.
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