He had been reading Belfort Bax, and declared himself a convert. He was perched on the very edge of the leather seat of the coach, his threecornered hat twisting nervously in his hands, and from time to time he passed a tongue over dry lips. In the afternoon she had considered certain doubts very carefully, and decided on a more emphatic course of action. This smile was more harrowing even than her former rigid look. There was a flash and a loud report. She could think of nothing more to say. And when there is no longer any need to use it, why then, enough you say—and throw it away. Why had he kissed her? What had led him into that? Neither love nor passion— utter blankness so far as reducing the act to terms.
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