"So he's back," Frobisher said, with a suppressed chuckle in his voice. "Don't you ask him here."
"As if he would come," Angela exclaimed indignantly. "I am sure Lady Frobisher would not do anything of the kind. She would as soon ask that impossible Benstein woman!"
A queer light flamed into Frobisher's eyes. Luck had given him an opening sooner than he had expected. He was prepared to lead up to his point by tortuous means.
"Is there anything impossible in society nowadays?" he asked. "Mrs. Benstein is beautiful and audacious, and her husband is fabulously rich. What more could you have?"
"She was actually wearing diamonds this morning," Angela murmured.
"Well, what of that? Next year, next week, it may be the thing to wear diamonds in the morning. After all, fashion is dictated by the tradesman you buy your stockings from, men with Board School education for the most part. Ain't you photographed in evening dress and picture-hats? After that atrocity any thing is possible. Mrs. Benstein will be at the Duchess's party to-day."
"Really, my dear Clement, I can't see how that can possibly interest me."
Frobisher laughed again, and the quick grin bared his white teeth. He liked his wife in these moods, he liked to bring her down from her high pedestal at times.
"It means a good deal to you," he said gaily. "_Ma chérie_, I have a mood to take Mrs. Benstein up. The woman fascinates me, and I would fain study her like one of my valued orchids. Of course, I don't make a point of it, but I shall be glad if you will get an introduction to Mrs. Benstein, and ask her to your fancy dance next week."
"Clement, you must be mad to insult me by such a suggestion!"
"Not in the least, my dear. The Duchess is complacent, and why not you? It is my whim; I have said it. Or perhaps you would prefer me to bring the lady to you this afternoon."
"If that woman ever sets foot in this house," Lady Frobisher gasped. "If she ever comes here----"
"You will be polite and amiable to her, I am sure," Frobisher said in a purring voice, though his eyes flashed like little pin-points of flame. "Or perhaps I had better ask the Bensteins to dinner. Sit down."
Lady Frobisher had risen, and Sir Clement did the same thing. Angela sat there breathlessly. With a slow, gliding movement Frobisher crept round the table to his wife's side. He took her two hands in his and gazed steadily into her face. Her eyes were dilated, her lips were parted, but she said nothing. Just for an instant she had one glance into the flame of passion and evil that Frobisher would have called his soul.