“You mean to tell me” he said, “that you have a lover? While I have been keeping you! Yes—keeping you!” This view of life he hurled at her as if it were an offensive missile. Fortescue rambled round the garden with soft, propitiatory steps, the Corinthian nose upraised and his hands behind his back, pausing to look long and hard at the fruit-trees against the wall. Marvel, who, as he had helped to deprive her of her former husbands, thought himself in duty bound to offer to supply their place. Pardon what I have said, Madam. .
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