She turned now, her face white, her dark eyes blazing with uncanny,
overwrought excitement. She saw him stooping to the bag, undoing the
loosely buckled strap, unattentive.
'Your what?' he asked.
'Oh, a little enamel box--yellow--with a design of a cormorant plucking
her breast--'
She went towards him, stooping her beautiful, bare arm, and deftly
turned some of her things, disclosing the box, which was exquisitely
painted.
'That is it, see,' she said, taking it from under his eyes.
And he was baffled now. He was left to fasten up the bag, whilst she
swiftly did up her hair for the night, and sat down to unfasten her
shoes. She would not turn her back to him any more.
He was baffled, frustrated, but unconscious. She had the whip hand over
him now. She knew he had not realised her terrible panic. Her heart was
beating heavily still. Fool, fool that she was, to get into such a
state! How she thanked God for Gerald's obtuse blindness. Thank God he
could see nothing.
She sat slowly unlacing her shoes, and he too commenced to undress.
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