"If she had heard the whole of our conversation I think she'd have realized there was something to be said for me." "There isn't anything to be said for you. And until you've apologized for insulting me--" "You've heard me apologize. As for insulting you, no decent woman, in the circumstances, ever tells a man his love insults her, even if she can't return it." "And even if he's another woman's husband?" "Even if he's another woman's husband, if she's ever given him the right--" "Right? Do you think you bought the right to make love to me?" She rose, confronting him. "No. I thought you'd given it me.... I was mistaken." He helped her to put on the coat that she wriggled into with clumsy, irritated movements. Clumsy. The woman _was_ clumsy. He wondered how he had never seen it. And vulgar. Noisy and vulgar. You never knew what a woman was like till you'd seen her angry. He had answered her appropriately and with admirable tact. He had scored every point; he was scoring now with his cool, imperturbable politeness. He tried not to think about Barbara. "Your fur." "Thank you." He rang the bell. Partridge appeared. "Tell Kimber to bring the car round and drive Mrs. Levitt home." "Thank you, Mr. Waddington, I'd rather walk." Partridge retired. She held out her hand. Mr. Waddington bowed abruptly, not taking it. He strode behind her to the door, through the smoke-room, to the further door. In the hall Partridge hovered. He left her to him. And, as she followed Partridge across the wide lamp-lighted space, he noticed for the first time that Elise, in her agitation, waddled. Like a duck--a greedy duck. Like that horrible sister of hers, Bertha Rickards. Then he thought of Barbara Madden. 3 When Ralph called for Barbara he told her, first thing, that he had heard from Mackintyres, the publishers, about his book. He had sent it them two-thirds finished, and Grevill Burton--"Grevill _Burton_, Barbara!"--had read it and reported very favourably. Mackintyres had agreed to publish it if the end was equal to the beginning and the middle. It was this exciting news, thrown at her before she could get her hat on, that had caused Barbara to forget all about Mr. Waddington's photographs and Mr. Waddington's book and Mr. Waddington, until she and Ralph were half way between Wyck-on-the-Hill and Lower Speed. There was nothing for it then but to go on, taking care to get back in time to take the photographs to Pyecraft's before the shop closed. There hadn't been very much time, but Barbara said she could just do it if she made a dash, and it was the dash she made that precipitated her into the scene of Mr. Waddington's affair. Ralph waited for her at the white gate. "We must sprint," she said, "if we're to be in time." They sprinted. As they walked slowly back, Barbara became thoughtful.