“No, it isn’t. If so, you’d have done it before—long ago. Why didn’t you? No, don’t answer. I’ll tell you. You got more pleasure out of holding it over me—that’s why. You liked to keep me on tenterhooks, and make me wince and squirm. You’d say things—diabolical things—just to torment me and keep me perpetually on the jump. And so they did for a bit—till I got used to them.”

“You got to feel secure,” said Clare.

“You saw that, didn’t you? But even then, you held back, enjoying your sense of power. But now we’re going away, escaping from you, perhaps even going to be happy—you couldn’t stick that at any price. So your convenient conscience wakes up!”

She stopped, panting. Clare said, still very quietly:

“I can’t prevent your saying all these fantastical things; but I can assure you they’re not true.”

Vivien turned suddenly and caught her by the hand.

“Clare—for God’s sake! I’ve been straight—I’ve done what you said. I’ve not seen Cyril again—I swear it.”

“That’s nothing to do with it.”

“Clare—haven’t you any pity—any kindness? I’ll go down on my knees to you.”

“Tell Gerald yourself. If you tell him, he may forgive you.”

Vivien laughed scornfully.

“You know Gerald better than that. He’ll be rabid—vindictive. He’ll make me suffer—he’ll make Cyril suffer. That’s what I can’t bear. Listen, Clare—he’s doing so well. He’s invented something—machinery, I don’t understand about it, but it may be a wonderful success. He’s working it out now—his wife supplies the money for it, of course. But she’s suspicious—jealous. If she finds out, and she will find out if Gerald starts proceedings for divorce—she’ll chuck Cyril—his work, everything. Cyril will be ruined.”

“I’m not thinking of Cyril,” said Clare. “I’m thinking of Gerald. Why don’t you think a little of him, too?”

“Gerald! I don’t care that—” she snapped her fingers “for Gerald. I never have. We might as well have the truth now we’re at it. But I do care for Cyril. I’m a rotter, through and through, I admit it. I dare say he’s a rotter, too. But my feeling for him—that isn’t rotten. I’d die for him, do you hear? I’d die for him!”

“That is easily said,” said Clare derisively.

“You think I’m not in earnest? Listen, if you go on with this beastly business, I’ll kill myself. Sooner than have Cyril brought into it and ruined, I’d do that.”

Clare remained unimpressed.

“You don’t believe me?” said Vivien, panting.

“Suicide needs a lot of courage.”

Vivien flinched back as though she had been struck.