Eva laughed. "If Rachel asked Johnstone for my head on a charger she'd
get it," she mocked. "I never worry about details; Rachel settles us
all."
"But I thought you were in the motor," persisted Pamela.
"I was," said Eva, with a shudder, "but do you suppose I want to
remember it? I couldn't help it; it was abominable. I hate pain, I hate
to see suffering! Rachel loves to take care of sick people; isn't it
fortunate?"
"It is," said Dr. Macclesfield. "I reckon the Levite hated to see
suffering too," he added to himself, pouring a little more wine into
his glass.
The desultory talk went on and Rachel kept her place, wondering a
little why she joined in so easily, but she looked up at the clock more
than once, convinced that it must be wrong, that the hands crawled
toward the ensuing hour to-night at a snail's pace. For she had been
trying to collect her thoughts, to force herself to accept the naked
fact that seemed now, at the first shock, to be too amazing for belief.
All through the trivialities of the discussion going on around her,
Mrs. Billop's extraordinary assertion that Charter was to marry Mrs.
Prynne ran like a strong, black thread in a gossamer woof, and that
previous moment of unreality, when she had snatched at a material
object for reassurance seemed about to repeat itself, only her feeling
now was even more confused. She had received a blow that had affected
her as keenly as the stab of a rapier, and the only clear perception
which survived was the necessity to conceal the wound.
It cost her almost a physical effort to go across the room and lift one
of the decanters to pour out a little wine, and she was shocked to find
her hand so unsteady that she spilt a few drops on the table without
pouring any into the glass.
Belhaven, who was standing near, turned and came to her aid. As he took
the decanter, their fingers touched and she looked up into his eyes
with an involuntary start of surprise.
"What is it?" she exclaimed, in a low tone.
A slight color went up to his hair. "Is anything the matter? Were you
listening to Astry's parrot? It's screaming like a banshee."
She took the glass mechanically, shaking her head with a smile, and at
that moment the parrot began to shriek in the conservatory.
"Eva, Eva!" it called.
The voice was so human and so shrill that the group about the
card-table looked up startled.
"By godfrey, I thought it was fire!" said Dr. Macclesfield.
Young Mrs. Astry rose from her chair. "I hate parrots," she said, so
abruptly that Sidney Billop dropped his glass.
Astry smiled. "I like them," he retorted. "Sidney, you'll step on the
glass if you wobble so."
"Eva," shrieked the parrot, coming nearer and then, with discordant
laughter: "you're a liar!"
Eva looked over her shoulder. "_Merci du compliment_," she mocked. "How
charming! Johnstone, do get another parrot."