"It _is_ hard lines! You meant well; but all the while you were a Upas tree.

'_I, Helen, take thee, Upas, to be my wedded husband_.' Poor lovely Helen! What a bargain!" He sat down in a deep basket-chair, lighted a cigarette, pushed another chair into position, exactly in front of him, with his foot; then filling it, one by one, with friends of his own and Helen's, held conversation with them.
"Quite right, my dear Mrs.Dalmain! You need not now confine yourself to _looking_ your disapproval; you can _say_ exactly what you think.

You see, Helen herself has told me the worst truth of all.

I am a Upas tree.
She sums me up thus: U, P, A, S! You can hardly beat that, Mrs.Dalmain.
In fact, you look distressed.

I can see that your kind heart is sorry for me.