In her bewilderment at this outburst, and at what it revealed, Pauline continued to sit speechless. "Michelangelo--Klawhammer? I didn't know! But wouldn't it have been the best solution, perhaps?" "Solution--of what? Don't you think one member of the family on the screen's enough at a time? Or would it have looked prettier to see him and Lita featured together on every hoarding in the country? My God--I thought I'd done the right thing in acting for you ... there was no time to consult you ... but if _you_ don't care, why should I? He's none of _my_ family ... and she isn't either, for that matter." He had swung round from the hearth, and faced her for the first time, his brows contracted, the veins swelling on his temples, his hands grasping his knees as if to constrain himself not to start up in righteous indignation. He was evidently deeply disturbed, yet his anger, she felt, was only the unconscious mask of another emotion--an emotion she could not divine. His vehemence, and the sense of moving in complete obscurity, had an intimidating effect on her. "I don't quite understand, Dexter. Amalasuntha was here today. She said nothing about films, or Klawhammer; but she did say that you'd made it unnecessary for Michelangelo to come to America." "Didn't she say how?" "She said something about--paying his debts." Manford stood up and went to lean against the mantelpiece. He looked down on his wife, who in her turn kept her eyes on the embers. "Well--you didn't suppose I made that offer till I saw we were up against it, did you?" His voice rose again angrily, but a cautious glance at his face showed her that its tormented lines were damp with perspiration. Her immediate thought was that he must be ill, that she ought to take his temperature--she always responded by first-aid impulses to any contact with human distress. But no, after all, it was not that: he was unhappy, that was it, he was desperately unhappy. But why? Was it because he feared he had exceeded his rights in pledging her to such an extent, in acting for her when there was no time to consult her? Apparently the idea of the discord between Lita and Jim, and Lita's thirst for scenic notoriety, had shocked him deeply--much more, in reality, than they had Pauline. If so, his impulse had been a natural one, and eminently in keeping with those Wyant traditions with which (at suitable moments) she continued to identify herself. Yes: she began to understand his thinking it would be odious to her to see the names of her son's wife and this worthless Italian cousin emblazoned over every Picture Palace in the land. She felt moved by his regard for her feelings. After all, as he said, Lita and Michelangelo were no relations of his; he could easily have washed his hands of the whole affair. "I'm sure what you've done must be right, Dexter; you know I always trust your judgment. Only--I wish you'd explain..."