‘Well, in what way?’ she inquired.  His drift was, as yet, quite unintelligible to her.

’Why, for instance:  look at the cold, methodical, unromantic, business-like air of all the right-angled positions of the hands.  They make a man set about work in spite of himself.  Then look at the piquant shyness of its face when the two hands are over each other.  Several attitudes imply “Make ready.”  The “make ready” of ten minutes to one differs from the “make ready” of ten minutes to twelve, as youth differs from age.  “Upward and onward” says twenty-five minutes to eleven.  Mid-day or midnight expresses distinctly “It is done.”  You surely have noticed that?’

‘Yes, I have.’

He continued with affected quaintness:—­

’The easy dash of ten minutes past seven, the rakish recklessness of a quarter past, the drooping weariness of twenty-five minutes past, must have been observed by everybody.’

’Whatever amount of truth there may be, there is a good deal of imagination in your fancy,’ she said.

He still contemplated the clock.

’Then, again, the general finish of the face has a great effect upon the eye.  This old-fashioned brass-faced one we have here, with its arched top, half-moon slit for the day of the month, and ship rocking at the upper part, impresses me with the notion of its being an old cynic, elevating his brows, whose thoughts can be seen wavering between good and evil.’

A thought now enlightened her:  the clock was behind her, and he wanted to get her back turned.  She dreaded turning, yet, not to excite his suspicion, she was on her guard; she quickly looked behind her at the clock as he spoke, recovering her old position again instantly.  The time had not been long enough for any action whatever on his part.

‘Ah,’ he casually remarked, and at the same minute began to pour her out a glass of wine.  ’Speaking of the clock has reminded me that it must nearly want winding up.  Remember that it is wound to-night.  Suppose you do it at once, my dear.’

There was no possible way of evading the act.  She resolutely turned to perform the operation:  anything was better than that he should suspect her.  It was an old-fashioned eight-day clock, of workmanship suited to the rest of the antique furniture that Manston had collected there, and ground heavily during winding.

Anne had given up all idea of being able to watch him during the interval, and the noise of the wheels prevented her learning anything by her ears.  But, as she wound, she caught sight of his shadow on the wall at her right hand.

What was he doing?  He was in the very act of pouring something into her glass of wine.

He had completed the manoeuvre before she had done winding.  She methodically closed the clock-case and turned round again.  When she faced him he was sitting in his chair as before she had risen.

In a familiar scene which has hitherto been pleasant it is difficult to realize that an added condition, which does not alter its aspect, can have made it terrible.  The woman thought that his action must have been prompted by no other intent than that of poisoning her, and yet she could not instantly put on a fear of her position.