It seemed of no use repeating to herself that this conversation would be
of vital importance; for the mechanism that formerly had recorded these
alarms and spread them, refused to work. She saw Chiltern enter, and she
read on his face that he meant to destroy. It was no news to her. She had
known it for a long, long time--in fact, ever since she had came to
Grenoble. Her curiosity, strangely enough--or so it seemed
afterwards--was centred on Mr. Simpson, as though he were an actor she
had been very curious to see.

It was this man, and not her husband, whom she perceived from the first
was master of the situation. His geniality was that of the commander of
an overwhelming besieging force who could afford to be generous. She
seemed to discern the cloudy ranks of the legions behind him, and they
encircled the world. He was aware of these legions, and their presence
completely annihilated the ancient habit of subserviency with which in
former years he had been wont to enter this room and listen to the
instructions of that formidable old lion, the General: so much was plain
from the orchestra. He went forward with a cheerful, if ponderous
bonhomie.

"Ah, Hugh," said he, "I got your message just in time. I was on the point
of going over to see old Murdock. Seriously ill--you know--last time, I'm
afraid," and Mr. Simpson shook his head. He held out his hand. Hugh did
not appear to notice it.

"Sit down, Mr. Simpson," he said.

Mr. Simpson sat down. Chiltern took a stand before him.

"You asked me the other day whether I would take a certain amount of the