"Well, that's a rum thing!" Caylesham's code was infringed by John's action—that was plain: but his humour was tickled too. "How did he—well, how did he take it?"
"Awful!" she answered with a shiver.
"But I say, you know, he kept the money, Christine."
"That makes no difference—or makes it worse. Oh, I can't tell you!"
"It doesn't make it worse for you anyhow. It gives you the whip hand, doesn't it?"
She did not heed him; she was set on pouring out her own story.
"It's dreadful at home, Frank. Of course I oughtn't to talk to you of all people. But I've had two months and more of it now."
"He's not unkind to you?"
"If he was, what do I deserve? Oh, don't be fierce. He doesn't throw things at me, like Harriet Courtland, or beat me. But I——" She burst into a little laugh. "I'm stood in the corner all the time, Frank."
"Poor old Christine!"