“Very well. I promise. You’ve won for the moment—‘Saint Jean’!”
He smiled at her, rather sadly. Before she could reply, Blaise’s voice sounded outside the door, asking if he might come in, and with a feeling of intense relief that the battle was won for the moment, Jean gave the required permission. As his brother entered the room, Nick quitted it, brushing past him abruptly.
Tormarin’s eyes questioned Jean’s;
“We have been discussing Sir Adrian,” she explained, as the door closed behind Nick. “And—and Claire.”
He nodded comprehendingly.
“Poor old Nick!” he said. “It’s damned rough on him. Latimer ought to be carefully and quickly chloroformed out of the way. He’s as much a menace to society as a mad dog.”
Jean sighed.
“I’m afraid they’re very unhappy—Nick and Claire.”
“I wonder Claire doesn’t chuck her husband,” said Blaise. “And take whatever of happiness she can get out of the world.”
Jean shook her head.