It was undeserved.

It was she who deserved contempt, not he.

And he threw it back at her in a strange incoherent outburst in which, all the same, there was a vibrating note of gladness and relief.
And all the while, unmoved by the passion into which he broke, she stood watching with a curious gravity his no longer immobile face.

She was thinking about Martin.

She was redeveloping Martin's expression when she had opened the door of her bedroom the night of her marriage and let him out.