Then she flashed from the room.
But the maddening smile still lingered on his lips as he bent to pick up
the book her blow had sent flying to the floor. And, still smiling, he
stood for a moment caressing the white dents her fingers had left on his
cheek. Finally he replenished the fire, filled and lighted his pipe and,
drawing his chair near to the hearth, sat, thinking, thinking, the
greater part of the night.
Pearl was out early the next morning, and walked halfway down the hill.
When she returned to the cabin she found Seagreave sitting in his chair
by the hearth as if he had not moved during the night; his haggard gaze
was fixed on the dead ashes of the fire. Without speaking to him, Pearl
stooped down and, with some paper and bits of wood, began to build up a
blaze again.
He peered at her a moment as if she were a vision, then got up very
stiffly as if he had not moved for hours, and began to assist her,
mechanically following the usual routine of preparing breakfast.
When it was ready they sat down opposite each other as was their custom,
and made a pretense of eating. With the exception of a perfunctory
remark or so the meal passed in silence. Pearl evidently had no
intention of apologizing for her behavior of the night before. Her
manner toward him was that of one who had relegated him to the position
of the tables and chairs, and intended to take no more notice of him.
Taking it for granted that that was the relation she wished sustained
between them, Seagreave gravely adopted her attitude, and for the next
few days if they spoke at all it was principally about the work that was
going on down at the crevasse.
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