Mrs. Carmichael shrugged her shoulders
as one does at an irresponsible child. "Well?" she repeated.
Nicholson came farther into the room, so that he stood within the
circle of lamp-light. In a rapid glance he had taken in the occupants,
and their attitudes were to him what symptoms are to a quick-sighted
doctor. Mrs. Cary sat in an arm-chair, bolt upright, her hands clasped
before her, her small eyes fixed straight ahead. Beatrice stood at her
side, almost in an attitude of protection, pale, but otherwise calm
and apparently indifferent. As he had entered, Lois had been preparing
some food at a side table. She now came closer, and her dark, serious
eyes rested penetratingly on his face, so that he felt that, even if
he had thought of deceiving them as to the true state of affairs, it
would have been in vain as far as she was concerned. As for Mrs.
Carmichael, she stood in her favorite position--her arms akimbo, her
chin tilted at an angle which lent her whole expression something
bulldog and defiant. The atmosphere of danger with which the little
drawing-room was filled acted differently upon each temperament, but
upon this typical soldier's wife the effect was to arouse in her all
the primitive passions, the fighting instinct, the love of struggle
against heavy odds.
"Come!" she exclaimed, as Nicholson still remained silent. "Do you
think, because one or two of us are a bit 'nervy', that we are really
afraid? Not in the least.
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