Suddenly Robin got up and spoke almost brutally.
“Do you think I don’t see that you are trying to find out from me what I think would be the best means of--”
“I think the water is boiling,” he said, going over to the lamp.
“It ought to bubble,” she answered quietly.
He lifted up the lid of the silver bowl and peeped in.
For a moment he was busy pouring the water into the teapot. While he did this there was a silence between them. Lady Holme got up from the sofa and walked about the room. When she came to the “_Danseuse de Tunisie_” she stopped in front of it.
Robin shut the lid of the teapot and came over to her.
“It’s lovely, but I fancy it would have been lovelier without the fan.”
She considered, holding her head slightly on one side and half closing her eyes.
“The woman’s of eternity, but the fan’s of a day,” she said presently. “It belittles her, I think. It makes her _chic_ when she might have been--”
“Throw away your fan!” he said in a low, eager voice.
“Yes. Be the woman, the eternal woman. You’ve never been her yet, but you could be. Now is the moment. You’re unhappy.”
“Yes, you are. Viola, don’t imagine I can’t understand. You care for him and he’s hurting you--hurting you by being just himself, all he can ever be. It’s the fan he cares for.”
She spoke with sudden passion. They stood still for a moment in front of the statuette, looking at each other silently. Then Robin said, with a sort of bitter surprise:
It gave her an odd, sharp pleasure to speak the truth to him.
“What are you going to do, then?” he asked, after a pause.
He spoke without emotion, accepting the situation.
He took her hand and led her back to the sofa. When she had sat down, he poured out tea, put in cream and gave it to her.
He poured out his tea and sat down in a chair opposite to her, and close to her.
“May I dare to speak frankly?” he asked. “I’ve known you so long, and I’ve--I’ve loved you very much, and I still do.”
“You thought your beauty was everything, that so long as it lasted you were safe from unhappiness. Well, to-day you are beautiful, and yet--”
“But what does he care for?” she said. “What do men care for? You pretend that it’s something romantic, something good even. Really, it’s impudent--just that--cold and impudent. You’re a fool, Robin, you’re a fool!”