Last of all, his glance, cold and
contemptuous, swept over Cara's white face.
He gave a short laugh.
"Bradley misled me," he observed coolly. "There's no one here in whom I'm
interested." For a moment his eyes--accusing, utterly scornful--met and
held Cara's. Then he looked across at Brett. "I understood you were alone,
Forrester. I regret my intrusion." With a curt bow he was gone.
As the door closed behind him Cara sank down mutely into her chair. She
gazed wearily in front of her. There was no need to ask herself what Eliot
thought. It had been written plainly in his eyes.
Presently she turned her head and looked across at Brett.
"Well?" she said tonelessly. "I hope you're satisfied. I don't think you
need bother any more about--punishing me."
The savage anger had died out of his face. He was regarding her with an odd
look of surprise. There had been no mistaking the anguish of her expression
as she had grasped Eliot's swift and cruel interpretation of the scene. She
had looked like a woman on the rack.
"So ... Coventry was the man ... before you married that bounder, Dene."
Brett spoke very quietly, like a man communing with himself, fitting
together the pieces of a puzzle.
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