She made a more determined effort to disengage herself. "Whatever he is, I've got to put up with him. So it's no good talking about it."
"Oh, but look here!" protested Wentworth. "You and I are such old friends. I used to think you cared for me a little. Violet, I say, what induced you to marry that outsider?"
She was silent, not looking at him.
"You were always so proud," he went on. "I never thought in the old days that you would capitulate to a bounder like that. Why, you might have had that Bohemian prince if you'd wanted him."
"I didn't want him!" She spoke with sudden vehemence, as if stung into speech. "I'm not the sort of snob-woman who barters herself for a title!"
"No?" said Wentworth, looking at her curiously. "But what did you barter yourself for, I wonder?"
She flinched, and dropped back into silence.
"Won't you tell me?" he said.
"No." She spoke almost under her breath. He relinquished the matter with the air of a man who has gained his point. "Do you know," he said, in a different tone, "if it hadn't been for that fiendish trial, I'd have been in the same race with Field, and I believe I'd have made better running, too?"
"Ah!" she said.