And then, having reacted in this perfectly normal way, he pulled himself up abruptly and began to think. There were many words which fitly describe Chloe, but he was not the man to fall to cursing. Behind his fury there was a quiet part of his mind which could almost admire her. As a piece of publicity it was superb—the discovery in Athens, the secret marriage, and that stolid, love-besotted boy to back her up. There was a story to delight the most blasé of journalists.
It was while he was visualizing this flux of newsprint that he suddenly saw his own name. A wave of hot blood rose up in his throat and passed over his head, so that his hairs tingled. He saw himself deflated, saw his carefully built-up personality blown away in idle sheets down a dusty road. This would be the end of him.
