She twisted her fingers nervously together, vibrantly conscious of
Coventry's tall, silent figure beside her, and her breath struggled a
little in her throat at the memory of all that had once linked their lives
together, of which there remained now only an abiding bitterness and
contempt.
The silence seemed to close round her like a pall, suffocating her. She
felt she could not endure it a minute longer.
"I hardly expected to see you here to-night," she said at last, the usual
sweetness of her voice roughened by reason of the effort it cost her to
speak at all.
"No. Dinner-parties aren't quite in my line," returned Eliot dryly. "But,
having been fool enough to say I'd come, I keep my word."
He glanced towards her as he spoke, and she flushed faintly beneath his
scrutiny. The latter part of the speech pricked her like an arrow sped from
the past, though it was difficult to estimate from the man's impassive
face whether or no he had actually intended to imply a deeper significance
than the surface meaning which the words conveyed. Cara felt that she must
know--at any cost she must know.
"Is that meant as a--protest?" she asked, assuming an air of playful
indifference which she was very far from feeling.
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