indeed,â she thought. âThe shrieking imbecile! Are they never going to get her away?â
âYes, O yes!â Miss Wilmot moaned. âI darenât stop. Iâno, no, I darenât stop.â
âCome then,â Mr. Foster said. âThis way; the doorâs just here by you. But youâre not afraid of it, are you?â
âYes ⦠no ⦠yes, I am, I am,â Dora moaned again. âItâs tooâO letâs get away.â
Mrs. Rockbotham released the arm she held. Mr. Foster, one hand still holding Miss Wilmotâs, felt with his other for the door-handle. Damaris was watching them, as were all the restâwithout her indignationâwhen suddenly everyone sprang into movement. There was a rush for the door; screams, not Miss Wilmotâs, sounded. Damaris herself, startled and galvanized, moved hastily forward, colliding with a heavy mass in flight which turned out to be Mrs. Roche Jacquelin. For from behind her, away towards those open windows, soft but distinct, there had come, or seemed to come, the sound of a gentle and prolonged hiss. Terror caught them all; following Mr. Foster and his charge, they squeezed and thrust themselves through the door. Only Damaris, after that first instinctive movement, restrained herself; only Mrs. Rockbotham, a little conscious of dignity still, allowed herself to be last. After the panic those two went, drawn by it but resisting its infection. The room lay empty and still in the electric light, unless indeed there passed across it then a dim form, which, heavy, long, and coiling, issued slowly through the open window into a silent world where for that moment nothing but the remote thunder was heard.
Chapter Three
THE COMING OF THE BUTTERFLIES
Anthony shook his head reproachfully at Damarisover the coffee cups.
âYou know,â he said, âif I were a sub-editor on anything but a distinguished literary paper, I should say you were playing with meâplaying fast and loose.â
âDonât be absurd, Anthony,â Damaris answered.
âI come and I go,â Anthony went on, âand you will and you wonât. Andâââ
âBut Iâve told you what I will,â Damaris said. âIâm not sure whether you and I could make a success of marriage. And anyhow I wonât think about anything of the kind till Iâve got my degree. Of course, if you think more of yourself than of meâââ
âWell, naturally I do,â Anthony interrupted. âWho doesnât? Am I a saint or an Alexandrian gnostic? Donât letâs ask rhetorical questions, darling.â
âIâm not doing anything of the kind,â Damaris said, coldly. âBut you must be willing to wait a little while. Iâm not sure of myself.â
âItâs all you are sure ofâbesides Abelard,â Anthony said. âAnd with you, that covers everything else.â
âI think youâre rather unkind,â Damaris answered. âWe both like each otherâââ
âDearest, I donât like you a bit,â Anthony interrupted again. âI think youâre a very detestable, selfish pig and prig. But Iâm often wildly in love with you, and so I see youâre not. But Iâm sure your only chance of salvation is to marry me.â
âReally, Anthony!â Damans got up from the table. âChance of salvation, indeed! And from what, I should like to know?â
âNobody else,â Anthony went on, âsees you as you are. Nobody else will give you such a difficult and unpleasant time as I do. Youâll never be comfortable, but you may be glorious. Youâd better think over it.â
Damaris said nothing. Anthony, it was clear, was in one of his difficult fits; and if it hadnât been for The Two Camps ââ. There was a short silence, then he too stood up.
âWell,â he said, âyouâve not been