“Didn’t I speak out?”
“Well, it is certain that man can twist everything to suit his purpose, even his own misdeeds.”
“Yes,” assented Jack quietly. “He has a wonderful strength of plausibility.”
“And he has managed to persuade Bice—I don’t know what he hasn’t persuaded them all—that it was a mistake about the fifty pounds, and that though now he no longer doubts that Clive paid it, the man never repaid it to him. Somehow or other he has made her believe that he has acted straightforwardly, and has suffered for it. And, myself, I can’t help fearing that there are some other complications, and that he has that foolish Mrs Masters in his power. But now that you are here, things will be put straight, I hope.”
“Yes. I suppose there will have to be a blow up,” said Jack, not very cheerfully.
There was a curious thrill—was it pity or reluctance?—in her voice when she went on rapidly:
“I blame myself for something. I ought to have told you before you went away that Bice was engaged to Mr Trent. I believe I thought something would be sure to happen to put an end to it.”
“I heard it from Trent himself. And it still goes on?”
“Yes. The marriage is to be at Easter—or was.” If there had been a clearer light in the room, Jack might have read something in Phillis’s face, some hidden pain, some struggle with herself which might have disarmed him. As it was, he was hurt by her persistent belief in his caring for Bice. He said in a hard and strained voice, which she interpreted as pain from her own point of view—
“Here is a budget of news, indeed! It seems one should be a villain if one desires to succeed successfully.”