of her cubs. Kitty’s jaw, always a little too square, protruded with an apish hideousness and her beautiful eyes were black with malice. But she kept her temper in check.
“If a man hasn’t what’s necessary to make a woman love him, it’s his fault, not hers.”
“Evidently.”
His derisive tone increased her irritation. She felt that she could wound him more by maintaining her calm.
“I’m not very well-educated and I’m not very clever. I’m just a perfectly ordinary young woman. I like the things that the people like among whom I’ve lived all my life. I like dancing and tennis and theatres and I like the men who play games. It’s quite true that I’ve always been bored by you and by the things you like. They mean nothing to me and I don’t want them to. You dragged me round those interminable galleries in Venice: I should have enjoyed myself much more playing golf at Sandwich.”
“I know.”
“I’m sorry if I haven’t been all that you expected me to be. Unfortunately I always found you physically repulsive. You can hardly blame me for that.”
“I don’t.”
Kitty could more easily have coped with the situation if he had raved and stormed. She could have met violence with violence. His self-control was inhuman and she hated him now as she had never hated him before.
“I don’t think you’re a man at all. Why didn’t
