“One never should keep these things,” said Connie.

“That one shouldn’t! One should never have them made!”

He broke the cardboard photograph and mount over his knee, and when it was small enough, put it on the fire.

“It’ll spoil the fire, though,” he said.

The glass and the backboards he carefully took upstairs.

The frame he knocked asunder with a few blows of the hammer, making the stucco fly. Then he took the pieces into the scullery.

“We’ll burn that tomorrow,” he said. “There’s too much plaster-moulding on it.”

Having cleared away, he sat down.

“Did you love your wife?” she asked him.

“Love?” he said. “Did you love Sir Clifford?”