"
She had regained control of herself, to all appearances, and she spoke
with perfect calm and self-possession. The Wanderer looked at her in
surprise and with some suspicion. Her hair was all falling about her
shoulders, but saving this sign, there was no trace of the recent storm,
nor the least indication of passion. If she had been acting a part
throughout before an audience, she would have seemed less indifferent
when the curtain fell. The Wanderer, having little cause to trust her,
found it hard to believe that she had not been counterfeiting. It seemed
impossible that she should be the same woman who but a moment earlier
had been dragging herself at his feet, in wild tears and wilder
protestations of her love.
"If you are sufficiently rested," he said with a touch of sarcasm which
he could not restrain, "I would suggest that we do not wait any longer
here."
She turned and faced him, and he saw now how very white she was.
"So you think that even now I have been deceiving you? That is what you
think. I see it in your face."
Before he could prevent her she had opened the door wide again and was
advancing calmly into the conservatory.
"Israel Kafka!" she cried in loud clear tones. "I am here--I am
waiting--come!"
The Wanderer ran forward. He caught sight in the distance of a pair of
fiery eyes and of something long and thin and sharp-gleaming under the
soft lamps.
Pages:
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321