'Love conquers all,' said Sir Henry, a little sententiously. He was disgusted. She was not playing the right dramatic part; but she never did any of the expected things. The ordinary conventions of women did not exist for her.
She had moved as far away from him as possible and was standing over by the portrait of Teresa Chesney.
'You must never talk like that again,' she said, 'or I shall not stay in the theatre.... It is not only the vulgarity of it that I hate, but that you should have misunderstood.... I was happy to be working with you in the play. Everything outside that is unimportant.'
'Not love.... Not love,' protested Sir Henry.
'Even love,' she said.
'I thought you liked me,' he mumbled. 'I was so happy giving you presents. I thought you liked me.... A man in my position doesn't often find people to like him.'
'So I do,' said Clara. 'You are very like Charles. That is why I understand you.'
Sir Henry winced. In his heart he thoroughly despised Charles Mann. He drank a glass of champagne and said nervously,—
'I'm glad we're not going to quarrel.... Forgive me.'
'You have spoiled it all for me,' she said. 'Everything is spoiled.'