She didn't know half but she knew enough.

You were quite right in what you said just now; Beatrice was more like her mother, and her mother was a good woman." "Really!" Elizabeth remarked, insolently.
"Don't answer like that," he blustered, striking the table.

"She was your mother, too." The woman's face was inscrutable, hard, and flawless behind the little cloud of tobacco smoke.

The man began to tremble once more.

Every time he ventured to assert himself, a single look from her was sufficient to quell him.
"Elizabeth," he muttered, "you haven't a heart, you haven't a soul, you haven't a conscience.