On their backs the veins, blue-violet,
were visible; and there was a delicate tracery inside the bend of her
arms. But her face, Lee reflected, was too passive, too inanimate; her
lack of color was unvaried by any visible trace of emotion, life. She
was, in fact, plain if not actually ugly; her mouth was too large; on
the street, without the saving distinction of her dress, he wouldn't
have noticed her.
But what, above the rest, engaged him was her resemblance to someone he
knew but couldn't recall. What woman, seen lately, had Mrs. Grove's
still, intent face, her pointed chin and long throat? She lifted her
hand, and the gesture, the suspended grace of the wrist, was familiar
to him. Finally Lee Randon, unable to satisfy his curiosity,
exasperated at the usual vain stupidity of such comparisons, gave up
the effort. William Grove informed Lee that he might accompany him to
his club, stay, or go as he willed. Mrs. Grove, it developed, would be
at home, where, if he chose, they might pursue the cause of Lee
Randon's presence there.
* * * * *
There was, Lee soon grasped, very little that was useful to be said.
They repeated what had been gone over before. Mrs. Grove explained
again Mina Raff's unpredictable qualities, and he spoke of Peyton and
Claire Morris. Beyond the admission of their surrender, Peyton's and
hers, to each other, Mina had told the Groves nothing; Savina Grove was
ignorant of what they intended.
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