“So ... Coventry was the man ... before you married that bounder, Dene.” Brett spoke very quietly, like a man communing with himself, fitting together the pieces of a puzzle.
She nodded.
“Yes,” was all she said.
He sat down on the opposite side of the table and leaned forward, still with that half-surprised curiosity on his face.
“Then why didn’t you clear yourself just now? You could have done. Why on earth didn’t you explain?”
A twisted little smile tilted her mouth.
“Because—because I wanted to keep Ann out of it. Don’t you see—he thinks Bradley made a mistake. He need never know—now—that Ann even thought of coming. I’ve ... made sure ... of his happiness. I took it away once. Now I’ve given it back.”
Brett got up abruptly. That twisted little smile hiding a supreme agony touched him as no woman’s grief had ever touched him yet.... The low, toneless confession with its quiet immolation of self.... He put his hand into his pocket, and, drawing out a packet of loose papers, banded together with elastic, flung them down on to the table.
“Oh, hang!” he said gruffly. “There are the bills Brabazon gave me. By God, you’ve earned them!”
Cara stretched her hand out slowly and touched the packet with hesitating fingers.