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Darrow
made
no
attempt
to
learn
the
end
of
her
unfinished
sentence
.
He
handed
back
Owen
’
s
letter
and
returned
to
his
newspaper
;
and
when
he
looked
up
from
it
a
few
minutes
later
it
was
with
a
clear
brow
and
a
smile
that
irresistibly
drew
her
back
to
happier
thoughts
.
The
train
was
just
entering
a
station
,
and
a
moment
later
their
compartment
was
invaded
by
a
commonplace
couple
preoccupied
with
the
bestowal
of
bulging
packages
.
Anna
,
at
their
approach
,
felt
the
possessive
pride
of
the
woman
in
love
when
strangers
are
between
herself
and
the
man
she
loves
.
She
asked
Darrow
to
open
the
window
,
to
place
her
bag
in
the
net
,
to
roll
her
rug
into
a
cushion
for
her
feet
;
and
while
he
was
thus
busied
with
her
she
was
conscious
of
a
new
devotion
in
his
tone
,
in
his
way
of
bending
over
her
and
meeting
her
eyes
.
He
went
back
to
his
seat
,
and
they
looked
at
each
other
like
lovers
smiling
at
a
happy
secret
.
Anna
,
before
going
back
to
Givre
,
had
suggested
Owen
’
s
moving
into
her
apartment
,
but
he
had
preferred
to
remain
at
the
hotel
to
which
he
had
sent
his
luggage
,
and
on
arriving
in
Paris
she
decided
to
drive
there
at
once
.
She
was
impatient
to
have
the
meeting
over
,
and
glad
that
Darrow
was
obliged
to
leave
her
at
the
station
in
order
to
look
up
a
colleague
at
the
Embassy
.
She
dreaded
his
seeing
Owen
again
,
and
yet
dared
not
tell
him
so
,
and
to
ensure
his
remaining
away
she
mentioned
an
urgent
engagement
with
her
dress
-
maker
and
a
long
list
of
commissions
to
be
executed
for
Madame
de
Chantelle
.
“
I
shall
see
you
to
-
morrow
morning
,
”
she
said
;
but
he
replied
with
a
smile
that
he
would
certainly
find
time
to
come
to
her
for
a
moment
on
his
way
back
from
meeting
the
Ambassador
;
and
when
he
had
put
her
in
a
cab
he
leaned
through
the
window
to
press
his
lips
to
hers
.
She
blushed
like
a
girl
,
thinking
,
half
vexed
,
half
happy
:
“
Yesterday
he
would
not
have
done
it
.
.
.
”
and
a
dozen
scarcely
definable
differences
in
his
look
and
manner
seemed
all
at
once
to
be
summed
up
in
the
boyish
act
.
“
After
all
,
I
’
m
engaged
to
him
,
”
she
reflected
,
and
then
smiled
at
the
absurdity
of
the
word
.
The
next
instant
,
with
a
pang
of
self
-
reproach
,
she
remembered
Sophy
Viner
’
s
cry
:
“
I
knew
all
the
while
he
didn
’
t
care
.
.
.
”
“
Poor
thing
,
oh
poor
thing
!
”
Anna
murmured
.
.
.
At
Owen
’
s
hotel
she
waited
in
a
tremor
while
the
porter
went
in
search
of
him
.
Word
was
presently
brought
back
that
he
was
in
his
room
and
begged
her
to
come
up
,
and
as
she
crossed
the
hall
she
caught
sight
of
his
portmanteaux
lying
on
the
floor
,
already
labelled
for
departure
.
Owen
sat
at
a
table
writing
,
his
back
to
the
door
;
and
when
he
stood
up
the
window
was
behind
him
,
so
that
,
in
the
rainy
afternoon
light
,
his
features
were
barely
discernible
.
“
Dearest
—
so
you
’
re
really
off
?
”
she
said
,
hesitating
a
moment
on
the
threshold
.
He
pushed
a
chair
forward
,
and
they
sat
down
,
each
waiting
for
the
other
to
speak
.
Finally
she
put
some
random
question
about
his
travelling
-
companion
,
a
slow
shy
meditative
youth
whom
he
had
once
or
twice
brought
down
to
Givre
.
She
reflected
that
it
was
natural
he
should
have
given
this
uncommunicative
comrade
the
preference
over
his
livelier
acquaintances
,
and
aloud
she
said
:
“
I
’
m
so
glad
Fred
Rempson
can
go
with
you
.
”
