Madeline was thinking of a look she bad caught on Miss Doran's face when the portfolio disclosed its contents; of Miss Doran's silence; of certain other persons' looks and silence—or worse than silence. The knitting of her brows became deeper; Marsh felt an uneasy movement in her frame.
"Speak plainly," he said. "It's far better."
" It's very hot, Clifford. Sit on a chair: we can talk better."
"I understand."
He moved a little away from her, and looked round the room with a smile of disillusion.
"You needn't insult me," said Madeline, but not with the former petulance. "Often enough you have done that, and yet I don't think I have given you cause,"
Still crouching upon the stool, he clasped his hands over his knee, jerked his head back—a frequent movement to settle his hair—and smiled with increase of bitterness.
"I meant no insult," he said, "either now
