In a thick, sweet voice, a voice too drowsy for anything beyond the bare statement of the fact, she had been telling Winny that she was engaged to be married to Mr. Ransome. Now she was looking at Winny (all her intelligence narrowed to that thread-fine glint of half-shut eyes), looking to see how Winny would take it. Winny took it with that blankness that leaves the brain naked to all irrelevant impressions, and with a silence that made all her pulses loud. She heard the rattle and roar of a distant tram and the clock striking the hour in the room below. She saw the soiled lining and the ugly warp of Violet's shoes kicked off and overturned beside the bed. Beyond the shoes, a stain that had faded rose and became vivid on the carpet. Then a film came over Winny's eyes, and on the far border of the field of vision, somewhere toward the top of her head, a yellow chest of drawers with white handles grew dim and quivered and danced like the yellow and white specter of a chest of drawers. "I suppose you're surprised," said Violet. "No, I'm not. Not at all." And she wasn't. But she was amazed at her own calmness. "I knew it," she said. "Knew it?" "Yes." Of course she had known it. If she hadn't, how could she have endured it now? "When did you know?" "Last week. When you came back." That was not true. She had known it before last week. She had known it as long as she had known Violet. And she had known that because of it Violet would come back. She hadn't blamed Violet for coming back. Even now, as she sat on Violet's bed and was tortured by those lights under Violet's eyelids, even now she didn't blame her. And if she turned her shoulder it was not because she minded Violet looking at her (she was past minding that), but because she was afraid to look at Violet. She didn't want to see her lying there. It was almost as if she were afraid of hating her. Behind her Violet was stirring. She had drawn up her outstretched limbs and raised herself on the pillows. Winny felt her behind her, restless and alert. Then she spoke again. "You needn't mind, Winny. It's got to be." "Mind? What makes you think I'm minding?" "The way you sit there with your mouth shut, saying nothing." "There's nothing to say. I'm not surprised. You've not told me anything I didn't know." "Well, any one would think you didn't approve of it. Why can't you get up and say you hope we'll be happy, or something?" "Of course, I hope you'll be happy. I want you to be happy." (Of course she did.) "Look here"--Violet was sitting up now--"_was_ there anything between you and him?" Winny rose straight and turned and looked at her. "You've no business to ask that," she said. "Yes I have." She rose slowly, twisted herself, slid her foot to the floor, and stood up facing Winny. "If I'm going to marry him I've a right to know. Not that it'll make a scrap of difference." "Who told you there was anything between us?" "Nobody told me. I mean--_was_ there--before I came?"