At this, Leilah, who had been looking down into her prison, looked up. “I never said so.”
“No, but was it necessary? Even nowadays, even in the States, a woman does not cut and run because butter won’t melt in her husband’s mouth. She does so because she has, or thinks she has, a grievance and the man, if he is a man, ought to be given an opportunity to apologise, however imaginary the grievance may be.”
Leilah shook her head. “There can be no apology here.”
Violet laughed. “That is just what I would say if I had gone and done it. Then it would be for Silverstairs to try on his knees to get me to listen to one—provided, of course, that in the interim I had not taken over another man, for in that case I verily believe he would wring my neck. But you need fear nothing of the sort from Verplank. He seemed anxious only to wring Barouffski’s.”
Leilah made another futile effort with her fork. Absently she answered:
“I don’t believe he knew who he was.”
“You don’t! After his telling him! But, apropos, what became of d’Arcy? I thought you and he were safely tucked away in a corner, otherwise never in the world would I have marched your Number One up to your Number Two.”
“D’Arcy!” Leilah repeated. She had barely heard. She scarcely knew what she was saying, still less what was being said.
“Yes, le beau d’Arcy. Marie de Fresnoy told me that the other day at the races he was about to pay a ragamuffin of a girl for a flower, when she said: ‘I’d rather you kissed me.’ Fancy that! She told me too that a man who had a husband’s reasons for wanting to kill him, was afraid to say a word. It appears he is a dead shot. But it appears also that your lovely Barouffski is one of the best swordsmen here. Verplank had better look out. To return though to our Chablis Moutonne. What will you do?”
Leilah, her thoughts afar, made no reply.