Richard checks to see that his gaze is turned, then looks at me frankly. His tone he keeps polite, however. ''I must ask you,'' he says, ''if you wish to continue with your drawing-lessons, now that I''m returned? I hope you do.'' He waits. I do not answer. ''Shall I come, as usual, tomorrow?'' He waits again. He has his hand upon the door and has drawn it back—not far enough, though, to let me step about it; nor does he pull it further when he sees me wishing to pass. Instead, his look grows puzzled. ''You mustn''t be modest,'' he says. He means, You mustn''t be weak. ''You are not, are you?''
I shake my head.
''Good, then. I shall come, at the usual time. You must show me the work you''ve done while I''ve been away. I should say a little more labour and—well, who knows? We might be ready to surprise your uncle with the fruits of your instruction. What do you think? Shall we give it another two weeks? Two weeks or, at the most, three?''⑤本⑤作⑤品⑤由⑤思⑤兔⑤網⑤提⑤供⑤線⑤上⑤閱⑤讀⑤
Again, I feel the nerve and daring of him, feel my own blood rise to meet it. But there comes, beneath or beyond it, a sinking, a fluttering—a vague and nameless movement—a sort of panic. He waits for my reply, and the fluttering grows wilder. We have plotted so carefully. We have committed, already, one dreadful deed, and set in train another. I know all that must be done now. I know I must seem