"Yes, please."
"Will you come into the other room? Rupert is with me."
"No. I'll wait here, thanks."
"Very well. I shall see you again." Mordaunt crossed to the door, then paused, and after a moment came slowly back to the table.
He stood before it in silence, looking down upon the portrait that Jack had laid there as one looks upon the face of the dead.
His face showed no sign of softening, yet Jack made a last effort to move him. "You're not going to let her fret her heart out for you? You'll go back to her if she is wanting you? Damn it, Trevor! You can't know what she is suffering! And after all—she is your wife!"
Mordaunt's mouth hardened. He made no response.
"Surely you don't—you can't—think evil of her?" Jack said.
Mordaunt raised his eyes slowly. "You have said enough," he said, with quiet emphasis. "As for this portrait, take it if you value it. I never cared for it myself."
"Never cared for it!" Jack ejaculated.