it directly.

She washed her face with cold water, then dried it almost cruelly with
a rough towel. Having done this, she did not look again into the glass,
but went at once down-stairs. As she came into the drawing-room she
heard voices in the garden. She stood still and listened. They were the
voices of Vere and Emile talking tirelessly. She could not hear what
they said. Had she been able to hear it she would not have listened.
She could only hear the sound made by their voices, that noise by which
human beings strive to explain, or to conceal, what they really are.
They were talking seriously. She heard no sounds of laughter. Vere was
saying most. It seemed to Hermione that Vere never talked so much and so
eagerly to her, with such a ceaseless vivacity. And there was surely an
intimate sound in her voice, a sound of being warmly at ease, as if she
spoke in an atmosphere of ardent sympathy.

Again the jealousy came in Hermione, acute, fierce, and travelling--like
a needle being moved steadily, point downwards, through a network of
quivering nerves.

"Vere!" she called out. "Vere! Emile!"

Was her voice odd, startling?

They did not hear her. Emile was speaking now. She heard the deep,
booming sound of his powerful voice, that seemed expressive of strength
and will.

"Vere! Emile!"

As she called again she went towards the window. She felt passionately
excited. The excitement had come suddenly to her when they had not heard
her first call.

"Emile! Emile!" she repeated. "Emile!"

"Madre!"

"Hermione!"

Both voices sounded startled.

"What's the matter?"

Vere appeared at the window, looking frightened.

"Hermione, what is it?"

Emile was there beside her. And he, too, looked anxious, almost alarmed.

"I only wanted to let you know I had come back," said Hermione, crushing
down her excitement and forcing herself to smile.

"But why did you call like that?"

Vere spoke.

"Like what? What do you mean, figlia mia?"

"It sounded--"

She stopped and looked at Artois.

"It frightened me. And you, Monsieur Emile?"

"I, too, was afraid for a moment that something unpleasant had
happened."

"You nervous people! Isn't it lunch-time?"

As they looked at her she felt they had been talking about her, about
her failure. And she felt, too, as if they must be able to see in her
eyes that she knew the secret Vere had wished to keep from her and
thought she did not know. Emile had given her a glance o