“Didn’t you know he was married?” asked Miss Klegg, and was struck by a thought that made her glance quickly at her companion. It stunned her. ‘Wait a minute, though. The last that is known of Monsieur Charvill is when he departed the Valade estate. Much more temperate; the discreet and joyless love of a virtuous, reluctant, condescending wife. I see that I am a beast—I beg your pardon, bête—and an imbecile, and an idiot. “Aunt!” she said, “I can’t—” Then she caught a wild appeal in her aunt’s blue eye, halted, and the door clicked upon them. She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying. But I should certainly want to be rid of Mr. ‘First I must see Jacques, and—’ ‘No need for that,’ intervened Roding, grasping her arm and trying to drag her to the door. Better get a dress. She forced herself not to think of John.
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