And turning again, as if the emotions she had churned up kept her on the move, she paced back to the mantel and there stopped, staring at her own reflection in the tarnished mirror. Through one doorway she saw a grave Chinaman standing on a stage-like platform. It was never intended that I should marry Monsieur Valade, but after the tragedy—’ her eyes darkening in genuine distress ‘—and that he was the only survivor, he came to me in the convent and married me, and brought me to England. A neat tale, giving little away. No offence, I hope. She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. He had tossed an honoured name into the mire; he required no prison bars to accentuate this misery.
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