‘It’s not a question of my right over you — though I HAVE some right, remember. I want to know, I only want to know what it is that subjugates you to that little scum of a sculptor downstairs, what it is that brings you down like a humble maggot, in worship of him. I want to know what you creep after.’

She stood over against the window, listening. Then she turned round.

‘Do you?’ she said, in her most easy, most cutting voice. ‘Do you want to know what it is in him? It’s because he has some understanding of a woman, because he is not stupid. That’s why it is.’

A queer, sinister, animal-like smile came over Gerald’s face.

‘But what understanding is it?’