"
Soames turned from the mirror, and unconsciously taking a china cup from
the mantelpiece, clasped his hands around it as though praying. He saw
her bosom rise and fall, her eyes darkening with anger, and taking no
notice of the taunt, he asked quietly:
"Are you carrying on a flirtation with Bosinney?"
"No, I am not!"
Her eyes met his, and he looked away. He neither believed nor
disbelieved her, but he knew that he had made a mistake in asking; he
never had known, never would know, what she was thinking. The sight of
her inscrutable face, the thought of all the hundreds of evenings he
had seen her sitting there like that soft and passive, but unreadable,
unknown, enraged him beyond measure.
"I believe you are made of stone," he said, clenching his fingers so
hard that he broke the fragile cup. The pieces fell into the grate. And
Irene smiled.
"You seem to forget," she said, "that cup is not!"
Soames gripped her arm. "A good beating," he said, "is the only thing
that would bring you to your senses," but turning on his heel, he left
the room.
CHAPTER XIV--SOAMES SITS ON THE STAIRS
Soames went upstairs that night that he had gone too far. He was
prepared to offer excuses for his words.
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