She was not frightened, she was not even disturbed, she was merely disgusted.

Never before had she understood so clearly the immeasurable distance that divided the Gabriella of seventeen years ago from the Gabriella who released herself calmly from the appalling clasp of the casual and business-like old man.

To the Gabriella who had loved George such an episode would have appeared as an inconceivable horror.
Now, with her worldly wisdom and her bitter knowledge of love, she found herself regarding the situation with sardonic humour.

The stupendous, the incredible vanity of man!--she reflected disdainfully.

Was there ever a man too ugly, too repulsive, or too old to delude himself with the belief that he might still become the object of passion?
"Now you've spoiled it," she said shortly, but without embarrassment.
"Now you've spoiled it." She put the case to him plainly, the Gabriella who would have blushed and trembled and wept seventeen years ago.
"But I meant nothing," he said, genuinely disturbed.