'Are you married to Charles Mann?'
'Ye-es,' she said, her heart fluttering.
'I didn't know,' he replied nonchalantly. His manner towards her changed. He was still soft and kind, and bland in his impish wit, but beneath the surface he was brutal, revengeful, cruel, and she felt the force of the ruthless egoism that had won him his position in spite of disabilities which would have hampered and even checked a less forceful man.... In the same moment she understood that what had been a glorious and lovely reality to her had been a game to him; and that he designed without the slightest compunction to turn both Charles and herself to his own profit.... Well, she thought, he might try, but he could not prevent either of them from making their reputations, and neither would ever sink to the mechanical docility of London players.
Sir Henry lit a large cigar and moved over to the fire.
'What does Verschoyle think of it?'
She knew that he was insolently referring to her marriage with Charles, but she turned the shaft by saying,—
'He is delighted with it all. He believes in Charles.'
'Hm.... Even the birds and fishes?'
'Who told you about that?'
'London doesn't let a good story die.'