There was real passion in his voice, and in spite of myself I was impressed. I seemed to feel in him some vehement power that was struggling within him; it gave me the sensation of something very strong, overmastering, that held him, as it were, against his will. I could not understand. He seemed really to be possessed of a devil, and I felt that it might suddenly turn and rend him. Yet he looked ordinary enough. My eyes, resting on him curiously, caused him no embarrassment. I wondered what a stranger would have taken him to be, sitting there in his old Norfolk jacket and his unbrushed bowler; his trousers were baggy, his hands were not clean; and his face, with the red stubble of the unshaved chin, the little eyes, and the large, aggressive nose, was uncouth and coarse. His mouth was large, his lips were heavy and sensual. No; I could not have placed him.
“You won’t go back to your wife?” I said at last.
“Never.”
“She’s willing to forget everything that’s happened and start afresh. She’ll never make you a single reproach.”
“She can go to hell.”
“You don’t care if people think you an utter blackguard? You don’t care if she and your children have to beg their bread?”
“Not a damn.”
I was silent for a moment in order to give greater force to my next remark. I spoke as deliberately as I could.
“You are a most unmitigated cad.”
“Now that you’ve got that off your chest, let’s go and have dinner.”