There was a fire and Nigel threw them into it. He saw no point in keeping them to confront Mary with. She would confess anyhow.
“May I ask one thing more?”
“My wife knows nothing about them,” repeated Percy.
Nigel thought what a pity that was. If she had, she would not have come to the party; things might have been tided over. But now. … He had no hope of the wish of his life, he was as furious as a spoilt child who is deprived of a favourite toy—or, rather, disappointed of all hopes of getting one. He became more and more angry with Percy and longed to annoy him. The fellow was too satisfied—too lucky—he had everything too much his own way!
“May I ask one thing?” said Nigel, as the letters were burning and he gave them one last irritated touch with the poker, “may I ask, does this affair give you the impression that I—only I naturally—had any—er—motives in trying to see Mrs. Kellynch often? If I may put it plainly, did you think I cared for her in a way that I had no right to?”
“To tell you the honest truth,” said Percy, “as I choose to be frank with you, I won’t say you had … motives, but I have the impression that you—er—admire her too much.”
Nigel waited a moment.
“And there you are perfectly right, Kellynch.”
Percy started up, looking a little pale.