“His beastly interpretation of my harmless visits.”
The tears had made runlets in her powder, and he added viciously: “He doesn’t know you, of course.”
His wife dabbed her eyes, and a scent of geranium arose.
“It seems to me,” said Granter, “that you’d be even more amused if there were something in it!”
“Oh, no, Charles, but—perhaps there is.”
Granter looked at her fixedly.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, there is not.”
He saw her cover her lips with that rag of handkerchief, and abruptly left the room.
He went into his study and sat down before the fire. So it was funny to be a faithful husband? And suddenly he thought: ‘If my wife can treat this as a joke, what—what about herself?’ A nasty thought! An unconscionable thought! Really, it was as though that blackmailing scoundrel had dirtied human nature till it seemed to function only from low motives. A church clock chimed. Six already! The ruffian would be back there on the Embankment waiting for his ten pounds. Granter rose. His duty was to go out and hand him over to the police.
‘No!’ he thought viciously, ‘let him come here! I’d very much like him to come here. I’d teach him!’