But all she heard was Piet's voice pitched so low that she could not
catch a word. Then came Jerry's in sharp, staccato tones. He seemed to be
surprised at something, surprised and indignant. Twice she heard him
fling out an emphatic denial. And, while she still listened with a
panting heart, there came the tread of their feet upon the stairs,
and she knew that they had descended to the lower regions.
For a long, long while she still crouched there listening, but there came
to her straining ears no hubbub of blows--only the sound of men's voices
talking together in the room below her, with occasional silences between.
Once indeed she fancied that Jerry spoke with passionate vehemence, but
the outburst--if such it were--evoked no response.
Slowly the minutes dragged away. It was growing very late. What could be
happening? What were they saying to each other? When--when would this
terrible strain of waiting be over?
Hark! What was that? The tread of feet once more and the sound of an
opening door. Ah, what were they doing? What? What?
Trembling afresh she raised herself on the bed to listen. There came to
her the sudden throbbing of a motor-engine. He had come in his car, then,
and now he was going, going without another word to her, leaving her
alone with Jerry. The conviction came upon her like a stunning blow,
depriving her for the moment of all reason.
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