"You seem to have no sense of shame," he flung at her.
"He wanted me." And for a fleeting instant she was again happy, thinking so. Gareth marked the beginning of—that smile.
"Are you sure?" he remarked slowly. "Of course I know little of the man—and wish to know less. But he struck me as being rather dangerously in love with his own wife. You and I ... we are neither of us very young any more, Kathleen. He may have flattered you, played with you, but——"
"She didn't care for him—didn't care...."
"That's why. You cared too much."
She cut in, fearing the next: "If he hadn't wanted me, would he have asked me to go South with him?"
"Did he ask? Didn't you rather drive it through, doggedly, blindly, because you yourself so much desired it? Thrash it through and flog it, and force it? The man ... I've seen you force things through, Kathleen."
He had said it, what she had all the time endeavoured to hide from herself. And now there was no question of El Dorado. Gareth again! destroying even the aftermath, so that she could never dwell on the episode, on memory of Napier's voice and caresses, without hot stinging shame. To cheapen herself, give herself where she was not ardently desired.... Kathleen withdrew the pins from her hat, and laid the broad-brimmed felt upon the table. Then she sat down; and Gareth sat down opposite; and the black china cat prepared itself for some innocent enjoyment. There were things to be said which had remained unspoken for years. It would be good to clear the air. And they were both out to wound, wound and hack and tear. It is not a pleasant frame of mind which visits a man and a woman from whom the last dreams have been wantonly snatched.
"It was perfect at Alpenruh, wasn't it?" said Kathleen, rending the first veil.
"And never since."