'Mr Jenkins calling, Miss Cicely.'
The one who was not equal to the situation was Elbow. He stood in the
doorway, staring.
Cicely was only a moment late with her smile.
Henry, with an open sigh of regret, nodded at his old acquaintance and
folded up the long strips of galley proof.
Elbow came into the room now, and took Cicely's hand. But his small
talk had gone with his wits. He barely returned Henry's nod. Cicely,
nervously active, suggested a chair, asked if there was going to be a
Country Club dance this week, thanked him for the beautiful roses.
Then silence fell upon them; an awkward silence, that seemed to announce
when it set in its intention of making itself increasingly awkward and
very, very long. It was confirmed as a hopeless silence by the sudden
little catchings of breath, the slight leaning forward, followed by
nothing at all--first on the part of Cicely, then of Elbow.
Henry sat still.
Once he raised his eyes. They met squarely the eyes of Elbow. For a long
moment each held the gaze. It was war.