"Let us go back," he persisted, "to last year."
"Last year he had his uses. He was a good watch-dog."
"A what?"
"A watch-dog. He kept other people off."
For a moment he was disarmed by the sheer impudence of it. He smiled a reminiscent smile.
"I should have thought his function was rather, wasn't it, to draw them on?"
Her triumphing eyes showed him that he had given himself into her hands. He should have been content with his reminiscent smile. Wasn't he, her eyes inquired, for a distinguished barrister, just a little bit too crude?
"You thought," she said, "he was a decoy-duck? Why, wouldn't you have flown from your most adored if you'd seen her—with Mr. Higginson?"
Thus deftly she wove her web and wound him into it. That was her way. She would take your own words out of your mouth and work them into the brilliant fabric, tangling you in your talk. And not only did she tangle you in your talk, she confused you in your mental processes.
"You didn't seriously suppose," she said, "that I could have had any permanent use for him?"