He did not tell her things; there was a distance between them.
Clara was happy, almost sure of him.

She felt she had at last got him for herself; and then again came the uncertainty.

He told her jestingly of the affair with her husband.

Her colour came up, her grey eyes flashed.
"That's him to a 'T'," she cried--"like a navvy! He's not fit for mixing with decent folk." "Yet you married him," he said.
It made her furious that he reminded her.
"I did!" she cried.

"But how was I to know ?" "I think he might have been rather nice," he said.
"You think I made him what he is!" she exclaimed.
"Oh no! he made himself.