The thought pricked up all her sharp intelligence and presence of mind.
She dared not turn round to him--and there he stood motionless,
unbroken. Summoning all her strength, she said, in a full, resonant,
nonchalant voice, that was forced out with all her remaining
self-control: 'Oh, would you mind looking in that bag behind there and giving me
my--' Here her power fell inert. 'My what--my what--?' she screamed in
silence to herself.
But he had started round, surprised and startled that she should ask
him to look in her bag, which she always kept so VERY private to
herself.
She turned now, her face white, her dark eyes blazing with uncanny,
overwrought excitement. She saw him stooping to the bag, undoing the
loosely buckled strap, unattentive.
'Your what?' he asked.
'Oh, a little enamel box--yellow--with a design of a cormorant plucking
her breast--' She went towards him, stooping her beautiful, bare arm, and deftly
turned some of her things, disclosing the box, which was exquisitely
painted.
'That is it, see,' she said, taking it from under his eyes.
And he was baffled now. He was left to fasten up the bag, whilst she
swiftly did up her hair for the night, and sat down to unfasten her
shoes. She would not turn her back to him any more.
He was baffled, frustrated, but unconscious. She had the whip hand over
him now. She knew he had not realised her terrible panic. Her heart was
beating heavily still. Fool, fool that she was, to get into such a
state! How she thanked God for Gerald's obtuse blindness. Thank God he
could see nothing.
She sat slowly unlacing her shoes, and he too commenced to undress.
Thank God that crisis was over. She felt almost fond of him now, almost
in love with him.
'Ah, Gerald,' she laughed, caressively, teasingly, 'Ah, what a fine
game you played with the Professor's daughter--didn't you now?' 'What game?' he asked, looking round.
'ISN'T she in love with you--oh DEAR, isn't she in love with you!' said
Gudrun, in her gayest, most attractive mood.
'I shouldn't think so,' he said.
'Shouldn't think so!' she teased. 'Why the poor girl is lying at this
moment overwhelmed, dying with love for you. She thinks you're
WONDERFUL--oh marvellous, beyond what man has ever been. REALLY, isn't
it funny?' 'Why funny, what is funny?' he asked.
'Why to see you working it on her,' she said, with a half reproach that
confused the male conceit in him. 'Really Gerald, the poor girl--!' 'I did nothing to her,' he said.