But I try for the
Terno this week. So tell me another number."
Miss Abbott did not know of the Tombola. His speech
terrified her. She felt those subtle restrictions which
come upon us in fatigue. Had she slept well she would have
greeted him as soon as she saw him. Now it was impossible.
He had got into another world.
She watched his smoke-ring. The air had carried it
slowly away from him, and brought it out intact upon the landing.
"Two hundred and five--eighty-two. In any case I shall
put them on Bari, not on Florence. I cannot tell you why; I
have a feeling this week for Bari." Again she tried to
speak. But the ring mesmerized her. It had become vast and
elliptical, and floated in at the reception-room door.
"Ah! you don't care if you get the profits. You won't
even say 'Thank you, Gino.' Say it, or I'll drop hot,
red-hot ashes on you. 'Thank you, Gino--'"
The ring had extended its pale blue coils towards her.
She lost self-control. It enveloped her. As if it was a
breath from the pit, she screamed.
There he was, wanting to know what had frightened her,
how she had got here, why she had never spoken. He made her
sit down. He brought her wine, which she refused. She had
not one word to say to him.
"What is it?" he repeated. "What has frightened you?"
He, too, was frightened, and perspiration came starting
through the tan. For it is a serious thing to have been
watched. We all radiate something curiously intimate when
we believe ourselves to be alone.
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