Dr. Felton that made her long to get away and hide herself from me.
What had she done toward me that made her long to get away?
The thought came to me as I saw that hard look in her eyes that had Fear in it too, and the hunted look of one who has done something she cannot recall.
It was the day before the concert that we quarrelled.
I had tried to kiss her good-night and she had held my hands tight and with arms crossed, drew back.
"No," she said.
"Why not?" I said and bent towards her. Her fingers tightened on mine and she stretched her arms out to hold me further away.
"I don't believe in being too fond of people or people being too fond of me," she said.
It was not herself—I could see the White Priestess behind the words—the Occult School had got at her properly.
"All right then, don't," I said. "Never speak to me again. I'll be glad when you've gone. You're the most resentful person I know."
She called out good-bye to me as I left for work next morning but I pretended not to hear, as I was half way out of the door.
When I came home at lunch time I tapped at her door and made some excuse to speak to her.
She was sitting there with her writing-pad on her lap and as she raised her face to speak to me I caught a look on it that I have ever since been longing to put on canvas.
It was "The Sorceress" in every line. With her beautiful forehead with its hair drawn straight back, eyes narrowed, lids half-dropped, and with a look in them that was alluring and full of intention, she craned her little head forward and fixed those eyes on me. The lids just made one drooping movement, and the look had in it something of the snake and a look of the East.
I seized it, all the artist in me awake and longing to put it on canvas. I knew and yet puzzled over it for a long time afterwards.
And then the concert, and her visitor in the motor-car when I was out. Had she written to ask him then? Was her revenge for me in preparation? Was I being used as a blind?
