“Oh, she does look like that; dried up, unemotional, tame, English, even comic.”
“The regular spinster, eh?”
“She looks it. But, damn it all, Vere has no business to say she has no emotions, to wonder why such people are born. But she doesn’t know—Vere doesn’t know.”
His agitation grew, and was inexplicable to me. But I knew Inley, knew that he was bound to tell me what was on his mind. He could be reserved, but not with me. So I took a cigar, cut the end off it deliberately, struck a match, lighted it, and began to smoke in silence. He followed my example quickly, and then said:
“Vere talks like that, and, but for Miss Bassett, Vere would have been murdered two years ago.”
I started, and dropped my cigar on the table.
“Murdered!”
“Yes; and I——”
He fixed his eyes on me, and put his hand up to his throat. Nino was half Neapolitan, and I saw a man being hanged. I picked up my cigar with a hand that slightly shook.
“But,” I said, “I always thought Lady Inley and you were very happy together.”