"
She sat quite still for a moment, a moment that seemed very long. Then
she put up both hands to her head, untied the veil and let it fall into
her lap. He looked at her, and there was silence. They heard the bees
humming. There were many among the roses on the wall. She had turned her
face fully towards him, but she kept her eyes on the veil that lay in her
lap. It was covered with little raised black spots. She began to count
them. As the number mounted she felt her body turning gradually cold.
"Fifteen--sixteen-seventeen"--she formed the words with her lips,
striving to concentrate her whole soul upon this useless
triviality--"eighteen--nineteen--twenty."
Little drops of moisture came out upon her temples. Still the silence
continued. She knew that all this time Robin was looking into her face.
She felt his eyes like two knives piercing her face.
"Twenty-one--twenty-two--"
"Viola!"
He spoke at last and his voice was extraordinary. It was husky, and
sounded desperate and guilty.
"Well?" she said, still looking at the spots.
"Now you know the man I spoke of."
Yes, it was a desperate voice and hard in its desperation.
"You mean that you are the man?"
Still she did not look up. After a pause she heard him say:
"Yes, that I am the man."
Then she looked up. His face was scarlet, like a face flushed with guilt.
His eyes met hers with a staring glance, yet they were furtive.
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