‘Peste,’ she wailed, as Emile dropped to the floor, ducking down. He was always doing his best to call her attention to the fact that he was a man of spirit and quality and experience, and she a young and beautiful woman, and that all sorts of constructions upon their relationship were possible, trusting her to go on from that to the idea that all sorts of relationships were possible. Something seemed awry. Voilà tout. Let me engage myself. The place was gloomy, with its darkly panelled walls, but it was sparsely furnished. Sheppard. Her knees were trembling, her whole frame was shaken with sobs. “After all, why should he be surprised?” she remarked.
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