‘Have you?’ she echoed. And she remained looking at him. She was stimulated above all things by this conflict with him, when he was like a sulky boy, helpless, and she had him safe at Breadalby. But underneath she knew the split was coming, and her hatred of him was subconscious and intense.

‘What were you doing?’ she reiterated, in her mild, indifferent tone. He did not answer, and she made her way, almost unconsciously into his room. He had taken a Chinese drawing of geese from the boudoir, and was copying it, with much skill and vividness.

‘You are copying the drawing,’ she said, standing near the table, and looking down at his work. ‘Yes. How beautifully you do it! You like it very much, don’t you?’