"Who—who is the Marquis de Chatillon?" "Your adopted son, Thames Darrell," answered Winifred. Eventually her movements carried her to the little stand at the side of the bed. “You are afraid,” she said, “that the young man who thinks that he is my husband has upset me. And my wife won’t live with me for reasons that I think most women would consider sound. Doubts began to rise up all about her, plucking at her confidence. In fiction you make the Chinese secretive, criminal, and terrible—or comic. Ramage seemed always fencing about the forbidden topic, probing for openings, and she wondered why she did not give him them. It seemed to show a want of affection, to be a deliberate and unmerited disregard, to justify the reprisal of being hurt. Jolly nice girl, too.
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