"It is over. There will be no trouble—not even a scandal."
She was blue with cold; her hands were numbed, and hung limply at her sides; her voice had become husky.
"Bravo! Well done!" He stood up, and stretched and straightened himself, as if throwing off the heavy load that had kept him crouched and bent in the armchair. "Excellent! I knew you'd do it all right;" and he drew a deep breath, and then began to chuckle. "And, by Jove, old girl, I'm grateful to you.... Look here. Have you had your grub? Don't you want some supper?"
"No."
"Well, understand—my best thanks;" and really he seemed to feel some little gratitude as well as great satisfaction. "Jane, you're a brick. You never show malice. You've a large heart."
"No," she said huskily; and with a curious slow gesture, she raised her numbed hands and pressed them against her breast. "I had a large heart once; but it has grown smaller and smaller, and harder and harder—till now it is a lump of stone."
"No, no. Rot."
"Yes. And that's lucky—or before this you would have broken it."
He stood staring at the door when it had closed behind her. Then he shrugged his shoulders, turned to the table, and replenished his glass with whisky.