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He roused curiosities. . . She thought of leaving the Beck house less and less these days, though the suitcase remained packed underneath her creaky bed. How could he have betrayed her so cruelly? How could he lie and claim her as dead? Sebastian studied her carefully as she refused to cry and became like a pillar of stone. Upon a table, where they had been hastily deposited, on the intelligence of Darrell's accident, lay a pair of pink kid gloves, bordered with lace, and an enormous fan; the latter, when opened, represented the metamorphosis and death of Actæon. ‘You don’t know him. Upon what this instinct was based she could not say; she was conscious only of its insistence.
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