Sir Philip's adoration of her was a
love-friendship, it was beautiful, it was pure. Was there no trust
nor courage in the world? She would defy all jealous scandal. She
would not even banish him from her side. Surely the Cheetah could
trust her. But the pitiless facts of Lady Marayne went beyond
Amanda's explaining. The little lady's dignity had been stricken.
"I have been used as a cloak," she wrote.
Her phrases were vivid. She quoted the very words of Amanda, words
she had overheard at Chexington in the twilight. They were no
invention. They were the very essence of Amanda, the lover. It was
as sure as if Benham had heard the sound of her voice, as if he had
peeped and seen, as if she had crept by him, stooping and rustling
softly. It brought back the living sense of her, excited, flushed,
reckless; his wild-haired Amanda of infinite delight. . . . All day
those words of hers pursued him. All night they flared across the
black universe. He buried his face in the pillows and they
whispered softly in his ear.
He walked his room in the darkness longing to smash and tear.
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