‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her. You really ought not to stay here and talk to us. ‘Gerald, what have you been about? Dorothée tells me that you were flirting outrageously with Madame Valade on Monday night. His tongue was more ready, his wit more keen than usual. But there was something in his face at once stupid and invincible that told her he would go on forcing himself upon her, that he would esteem speech with her a great point gained. And then, for the first time, Wood noticed a small stream of blood coursing slowly down her cheek.
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