"I was here first. We can't both stay here together!"
On Irene's face a smile wandered up, and died out like a flicker of
firelight. She did not move. And then it was that June perceived under
the softness and immobility of this figure something desperate and
resolved; something not to be turned away, something dangerous. She
tore off her hat, and, putting both hands to her brow, pressed back the
bronze mass of her hair.
"You have no right here!" she cried defiantly.
Irene answered: "I have no right anywhere!
"What do you mean?"
"I have left Soames. You always wanted me to!"
June put her hands over her ears.
"Don't! I don't want to hear anything--I don't want to know anything.
It's impossible to fight with you! What makes you stand like that? Why
don't you go?"
Irene's lips moved; she seemed to be saying: "Where should I go?"
June turned to the window. She could see the face of a clock down in the
street. It was nearly four. At any moment he might come! She looked back
across her shoulder, and her face was distorted with anger.
But Irene had not moved; in her gloved hands she ceaselessly turned and
twisted the little bunch of violets.
The tears of rage and disappointment rolled down June's cheeks.
"How could you come?" she said. "You have been a false friend to me!"
Again Irene laughed. June saw that she had played a wrong card, and
broke down.
"Why have you come?" she sobbed. "You've ruined my life, and now you
want to ruin his!"
Irene's mouth quivered; her eyes met June's with a look so mournful that
the girl cried out in the midst of her sobbing, "No, no!"
But Irene's head bent till it touched her breast. She turned, and went
quickly out, hiding her lips with the little bunch of violets.
June ran to the door. She heard the footsteps going down and down. She
called out: "Come back, Irene! Come back!"
The footsteps died away....
Bewildered and torn, the girl stood at the top of the stairs. Why had
Irene gone, leaving her mistress of the field? What did it mean? Had
she really given him up to her? Or had she...? And she was the prey of a
gnawing uncertainty.... Bosinney did not come....
About six o'clock that afternoon old Jolyon returned from Wistaria
Avenue, where now almost every day he spent some hours, and asked if his
grand-daughter were upstairs. On being told that she had just come in,
he sent up to her room to request her to come down and speak to him.