There was a knock at the door, the announcement that a signore was waiting in the drawing-room for the signora. Lady Holme felt an almost ungovernable sensation of physical nausea. She went to her dressing-case and drank one or two burning drops of eau de Cologne. Then she pulled down the veil under her chin and stood in the middle of the room for several minutes without moving. Then she went downstairs quickly and went quickly into the drawing-room. Robin was there, standing by the window. He looked excited, with an excitement of happiness, and this gave to him an aspect of almost boyish youth. His long black eyes shone with eagerness when she came into the room. But when he saw the veil his face changed. “You don’t trust me!” he said, without any greeting. She went up to him and put out her hand. “Robin!” she said. “You don’t trust me,” he repeated. He took her hand. His was hot. “Robin--I’m a coward,” she said. Her voice quivered. “Oh, my dearest!” he exclaimed, melted in a moment. He took her other hand, and she felt his hands throbbing. His clasp was so ardent that it startled her into forgetting everything for one instant, everything that except these clasping hands loved her hands, loved her. That instant was exquisitely sweet to her. There was a stinging sweetness in it, a mystery of sweetness, as if their four hands were four souls longing to be lost in one another. “Now you’ll trust me,” he said. She released her hands and immediately her terror of doubt returned. “Let us go into the garden,” she answered. He followed her to the path beside the wall. “I looked for you from here,” she said. “I did not see you.” “No. When I heard the boat I--Robin, I’m afraid--I’m afraid.” “Of me, Viola?” He laughed joyously. “Take off your veil,” he said. “No, no--not yet. I want to tell you first--” “To tell me what?” “That my--that my--Robin, I’m not beautiful now.” Her voice quivered again. “You tell me so,” he answered. “It’s true.” “I don’t believe it.” “But,” she began, almost desperately, “it’s true, Robin, oh, it’s true! When Fritz--” She stopped. She was choking. “Oh--Fritz!” he said with scathing contempt. “No, no, listen! You’ve got to listen.” She put her hand on his arm. “When Fritz saw me--afterwards he--he was afraid of me. He couldn’t speak to me. He just looked and said--and said--” Tears were running down behind the veil. He put up his hand to hers, which still touched his arm. “Don’t tell me what he said. What do I care? Viola, you know I’ve almost longed for this--no, not that, but--can’t you understand that when one loves a woman one loves something hidden, something mystical? It’s so much more than a face that one loves. One doesn’t want to live in a house merely because it’s got a nice front door.” He laughed again as if he were half ashamed of his own feeling. “Is that true, Robin?” The sound of her voice told him that he need not be afraid to be passionate. “Sit down here,” he said.