Part 41 (1/2)
”Certainly. Nothing is easier.”
The voice was full of that injured dignity which most surely irritated him, as Gloria knew. But the servant was in the room, and he said nothing, though it was a real effort to be silent. His tongue had been free that day, and it was hard to be bound again.
They finished dinner almost in silence, and then went back to the drawing-room by force of habit. Gloria was still in her walking-dress, but there was no hurry, and she resumed her favourite seat by the fire for a time, before going to dress for the reception.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
THERE was something exasperating in the renewal of the position exactly as it had been before dinner. To make up for having eaten nothing, Reanda drank two cups of coffee in silence.
”You might at least speak to me,” observed Gloria, as he set down the second cup. ”One would almost think that we had quarrelled!”
The hard laugh that followed the words jarred upon him more painfully than anything that had gone before. He laughed, too, after a moment's silence, half hysterically.
”Yes,” he said; ”one might almost think that we had quarrelled!” And he laughed again.
”The idea seems to amuse you,” said Gloria, coldly.
”As it does you,” he answered. ”We both laughed. Indeed, it is very amusing.”
”Donna Francesca has sent you home in a good humour. That is rare. I suppose I ought to be grateful.”
”Yes. I am in a fine humour. It seems to me that we both are.” He bit his cigar, and blew out short puffs.
”You need not include me. Please do not smoke into my face.”
The smoke was not very near her, but she made a movement with her hands as though brus.h.i.+ng it away.
”I beg your pardon,” he said politely, and he moved to the other side of the fireplace.
”How nervous you are!” she exclaimed. ”Why can you not sit down?”
”Because I wish to stand,” he answered, with returning impatience.
”Because I am nervous, if you choose.”
”You told me that you were perfectly well.”
”So I am.”
”If you were perfectly well, you would not be nervous,” she replied.
He felt as though she were driving a sharp nail into his brain.
”It does not make any difference to you whether I am nervous or not,” he said, and his eye began to lighten, as he sat down.
”It certainly makes no difference to you whether you are rude or not.”
He shrugged his shoulders, said nothing, and smoked in silence. One thin leg was crossed over the other and swung restlessly.