And then I heard the other man--the man of the musical voice--talk
about Lady Sinfi with the greatest admiration and regard. He wound up
by saying, 'By the bye, where is she now? I should like to use her in
painting my new picture.'
'She's in Wales; so Kiomi told me.'
'Ah yes! I remember she has an extraordinary passion for Snowdon.'
'Her passion is now for something else, though.'
'What's that?'
'A man.'
'I never saw a girl so indifferent to men as Lady Sinfi.'
'She is living at this moment as the mistress of a cousin of Cyril
Aylwin.'
My blood boiled with rage. I lost all control of myself. I longed to
feel his face against my knuckles.
'That's not true,' I said in a rather loud voice.
He started up, and turned round, saying in a hectoring voice, 'What
was that you said to me? Will you repeat your words?'
'To repeat one's words,' I said quietly, 'shows a limited
vocabulary, so I will put it thus,--what you said just now about
Sinfi Lovell being the mistress of Cyril Aylwin's cousin is a lie.'
'You dare to give me the lie, sir? And what the devil do you mean by
listening to our conversation?'
The threatening look that he managed to put into his face was so
entirely histrionic that it made me laugh outright.
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