During the fortnight that followed Mark saw Mrs. Perowne every day. The actress exercised over him strange powers of attraction and repulsion, which he tried to analyse: sensible that the repulsion was subtle and negative, whereas the attraction was obvious and positive. She had a score of charms; but beneath them lay something secret and hateful; possibly a cruelty not alien to red hair and red lips. By chance, one day, Mark said that strong smelling-salts held beneath the nose of a bulldog would make him relax his grip of another dog when more violent measures had failed. The actress had a Chow for whom she expressed extravagant affection. Before Mark could interfere, she had called the dog to her side and thrust beneath its sensitive nostrils some strong spirits of ammonia. The poor animal snuffed at them, and was almost strangled by the fumes. Mark, furious at such unnecessary cruelty, made hot protest and then got up to leave the room. Mrs. Perowne entreated forgiveness, pleading ignorance and thoughtlessness. Mark saw tears in her eyes; suborned witnesses, no doubt, but deemed honest by an honest man.
"I loathe cruelty," said Mark.
"Gonzales is cruel," she replied irrelevantly.
"But you like him?"
"I hate him—sometimes."
He divined in her a desire to talk about Gonzales.
"I hate him always," said Mark. "I don't want to hear his name mentioned. I know he is a beast."
"Would you like me to dismiss him?" she asked softly.
He stared at her in astonishment.
"Could you? I understood that he was in—indispensable, as actor and manager."