‘I can’t think how I’ve tolerated myself all these years. It was at breakfast on this day that he told Ruth he had sent to Batavia for some dresses. He had heard me sing—the fool thought himself in love with me. On the present occasion, he appeared to have bestowed more than ordinary attention on his toilette. He had been hard since they had taken their clothes off. His first inquiries were concerning the child, and he was delighted to find that it still lived and was doing well. There were menacing possibilities; the thought of them set him a-tremble. Taking hold of the hilt of his own foil, he drew it forth. ‘I suppose he isn’t this Leonardo you spoke of?’ ‘Certainly he is not Leonardo. Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving fingers, held that stringy neck with passionately living hands. Sheila pounded the kitchen table, causing the bell jar with the silk flowers to tip over and roll to the floor.
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