But she did not in the least want to do that. ‘Sir?’ Hilary threw a brief glance at Trodger, and quickly returned his intent gaze to the Frenchman, who had halted once more, and stood as if thinking deeply. “Well, no,” she answered. He wanted to put on his overcoat and come after you and look for you—in London. You must come back. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. She had intended to be quietly dignified, but he was in a smouldering rage from the beginning, and began by assuming, which alone was more than flesh and blood could stand, that the insurrection was over and that she was coming home submissively. It’s not like we’re getting married. But he didn’t marry her. Pah! What a pig is this générale. But you,” he continued, moving imperceptibility a little nearer to her, “you are mine. Do not imagine that I cannot do so, as well as I can this Gérard. But to confess about Gerald— no, a thousand times. —I'll soon find you out.
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