‘Well, what have I done?’
‘Ruined her, body and soul.’
‘You are wrong there,’ says Wyndham, who has recovered from his sudden temper, and is now quite calm. ‘You had better sit down and let us talk it over. You are wrong on all counts. I have done her no injury. You are not her proper guardian. She is in a position to support herself.’
‘She is not,’ says Moore coarsely.
‘But she is, I assure you, if’—with elaborate politeness—‘you will permit me to explain. Miss—what is her name, by the way, Moore?’
‘That’—with a scowl—‘is for you to find out.’
‘True. Well, I shall find it out. In the meantime, I suppose you quite recognise the fact that all is at an end about that idea of yours that you have any power over her.’
‘It would take a good lawyer to convince me of that,’ says Moore insolently.
‘A good lawyer,’ says Wyndham. ‘Well, name one.’
‘Paul Wyndham, for one.’ Moore laughs sardonically as he says it, and looks at his antagonist as if defying him to question the power of the man he has named.