“What do you mean by ‘too’?” asked the other shortly.
“I heard a rumour that Dr. Quixtus was going there. It seemed so silly that I paid no attention to it. Are you really going Ephraim?”
It was a trap deliberately laid. It was a defiance, a challenge. From the corner of the sofa she stretched out her bare arm at full length and laid her hand on his shoulder. The other woman looked white and pinched; her eyes lost their allurement, and regarded him almost with enmity.
“You promised.”
The words were snapped out before she could realise their significance. The instant after she could have thrust hat-pins into herself in punishment for folly. The manhood in Quixtus leapt at the lash. He knew then, with a startling clarity of assurance, that nothing in the world would induce him to strut about casinos with her in Dinard. He smiled courteously.
“Pardon me, dear Mrs. Fontaine. I made no promise. You must remember my little—my little trope of the daw and the peacocks.”
Clementina satisfied, withdrew her hand.
“Of course, dear Ephraim, if you would prefer to go to Dinard with Mrs. Fontaine——”
Lena Fontaine rose. “Dr. Quixtus is obviously free to do what he chooses. I wish you would kindly leave me out of it.”
Clementina rose too, and held out her hand.