"Your wife?" "His lawful wife," said Ruth, with fine dignity. Neither of them joined in the applause which followed upon her exit. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. But the world didn’t do that. Then he had gone away. She felt very cool as he opened the door for her, as if she should have chic sunglasses and stiletto heels on, dark red lipstick. “You know what a fearful old prig Ferringhall is, always goes about as though the whole world were watching him? We tried to show him around Paris, but he wouldn’t have any of it. She spoke with a certain odd deliberation carefully chosen words which fell like drops of ice upon the man who sat listening. From the first of these alighted Thames, or, as he must now be styled, the Marquis de Chatillon.
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