"Yes," said Miranda.
"Just for your amusement, in a word?"
"Amusement was the word I chose."
"I see, I see." His voice was lifeless, his face dull and stony. Miranda moved uneasily as she watched him; but he did not notice her movement or regard her with any suspicion. His thoughts and feelings were muffled. He seemed to be standing somewhere a long way outside himself and contemplating the two people here in the room with a deal of curiosity, and with perhaps a little pity; of which pity the woman had her share with the man. "I see," he continued. "It was all a sham?"
Miranda glanced at him, and from him to the glove. "Even the glove was a sham," she said quickly. "Look at it."
He bent down and lifted it from her knees. Then he drew up a chair to the table, sat down, and examined the glove. Miranda hitched her chair closer to the table, too, and propping her elbows there, supported her chin upon her hands.
"You see that the glove is fresh," she said.
"It has been worn," answered Charnock. "The fingers have been shaped by wearing."
"It was worn by me for ten minutes in this room the day I posted it to you."
"But the tear?" he asked with a momentary quickening of speech.