"Ah!" he had said to Bosinney when he could speak, "and I suppose you're
perfectly contented with yourself. But I may as well tell you that
you've altogether mistaken your man!"
What he meant by those words he did not quite know at the time, but
after dinner he looked up the correspondence between himself and
Bosinney to make quite sure. There could be no two opinions about
it--the fellow had made himself liable for that extra four hundred, or,
at all events, for three hundred and fifty of it, and he would have to
make it good.
He was looking at his wife's face when he came to this conclusion.
Seated in her usual seat on the sofa, she was altering the lace on a
collar. She had not once spoken to him all the evening.
He went up to the mantelpiece, and contemplating his face in the mirror
said: "Your friend the Buccaneer has made a fool of himself; he will
have to pay for it!"
She looked at him scornfully, and answered: "I don't know what you are
talking about!"
"You soon will. A mere trifle, quite beneath your contempt--four hundred
pounds."
"Do you mean that you are going to make him pay that towards this
hateful, house?"
"I do."
"And you know he's got nothing?"
"Yes."
"Then you are meaner than I thought you."
Soames turned from the mirror, and unconsciously taking a china cup from
the mantelpiece, clasped his hands around it as though praying. He saw
her bosom rise and fall, her eyes darkening with anger, and taking no
notice of the taunt, he asked quietly:
"Are you carrying on a flirtation with Bosinney?"
"No, I am not!"
Her eyes met his, and he looked away. He neither believed nor
disbelieved her, but he knew that he had made a mistake in asking; he
never had known, never would know, what she was thinking. The sight of
her inscrutable face, the thought of all the hundreds of evenings he
had seen her sitting there like that soft and passive, but unreadable,
unknown, enraged him beyond measure.
"I believe you are made of stone," he said, clenching his fingers so
hard that he broke the fragile cup. The pieces fell into the grate. And
Irene smiled.
"You seem to forget," she said, "that cup is not!"
Soames gripped her arm. "A good beating," he said, "is the only thing
that would bring you to your senses," but turning on his heel, he left
the room.