rose.

"You came upon me at an unlucky moment," she said. "Please forget it."

He still stared at her stonily without moving or speaking. Something that
was almost fear gripped her. The very stillness of the man was in a
fashion intimidating.

She stood before him, erect, and at least outwardly calm. "May I have my
letter?" she said.

The words were a distinct command, and after a very decided pause he
responded to it. He rose with a quick, lithe movement, and handed her the
letter with a brief bow.

An instant later, while she still waited for him to speak, he turned on
his heel and left her.

Very soon after, Mrs. Errol came in, and then one after another those who
were staying in the house for the entertainment. But Anne had commanded
herself by that time. No one noticed anything unusual in her demeanour.

Nap was absent from the dinner--table. Someone said that he was
superintending some slight alteration on the stage. It was so ordinary an
occurrence for him to fail to appear at a meal that no one was surprised.
Only Anne covered a deep uneasiness beneath her resolute serenity of
manner. She could not forget that basilisk stare. It haunted her almost
to the exclusion of everything else. She had no thought to spare for the
letter regarding her husband. She could only think of Nap. What had that
stare concealed? She felt that if she could have got past those baffling,
challenging eyes she would have seen something terrible.

Yet when she met him again she wondered if after all she had disquieted
herself for nought. He was standing at the stage-entrance to the
marquee, discussing some matter with one of the curtain-pullers when she
arrived. He stood aside for her to pass, and she went by quickly,
avoiding his eyes.

She kept out of his way studiously till her turn came, then perforce she
had to meet him again, for he was stationed close to the opening on to
the stage through which she had to pass. For the moment there was no one
else at hand, and she felt her heart beat thick and fast as she waited
beside him for her cue.

He did not speak to her, did not, she fancied, even look at her; but
after a few dumb seconds his hand came out to hers and held it in a
close, sinewy grip. Her own was nerveless, cold as ice. She could not
have withdrawn it had she wished. But she did not wish. That action of
his had a strange effect upon her, subtly calming her reawakened doubts.
She felt that he meant to reassure her,