Viola had turned away to the tall glass behind him, under the pretense of taking off her hat. She could not control her tears. As she stood, seeing her blurred image dark against the lamplight, she could hear the colonel babbling on, apparently too preoccupied to notice that she was not answering:
"It 'll be warm when we get back—not this diabolical heat, but just soft and sunny. The hills will be all brown. Presently there 'll be a smell of eucalyptus in the air, but that won't be till later, when the evenings are short. Oh, I 'm so glad we 're going back! It 's like getting out of prison."
He was suddenly silent, and Viola heard him making a slight rustling movement in his chair. Then the room was very quiet, for Corinne had stopped beating with her toes. For a space Viola struggled with herself, biting her lips, and surreptitiously taking out her handkerchief and pressing it against her face. She was more afraid of the piercing eyes of Corinne than of her father, and when she had controlled herself sufficiently to be presentable, she looked in the mirror to see if Corinne had been observing her. Instead, she saw the child standing up some few steps away from the colonel, regarding him with an expression of keen, suspended intentness that was at once curious and fearful.
