. . without coming to anything."
"God forgive me!" cried Mahony passionately. "It takes a woman's brain
to house such a preposterous idea."
"Oh, I'm not quite the fool you make me out to be, Richard. I've got
some sense in me. But it's always the same. I think of you, and you
think of no one but yourself. I only wanted to spare you. And this is
the thanks I get for it." And sitting down on the side of the bed she
wept bitterly.
"Will you assure me, madam, that till to-night nothing I could have
objected to has ever passed between you?"
"No, Richard, I won't! I won't tell you anything else. You get so angry
you don't know what you're saying. And if you can't trust me better than
that--Purdy said to-night you didn't understand me. . . and never had."
"Oh, he did, did he? There we have it! Now I'll know every word the
scoundrel has ever said to you--and if I have to drag it from you by
force."
But Mary set her lips, with an obstinacy that was something quite new in
her. It first amazed Mahony, then made him doubly angry. One word gave
another; for the first time in their married lives they quarrelled--
quarrelled hotly. And, as always at such times, many a covert criticism
a secret disapproval which neither had ever meant to breathe to the
other, slipped out and added fuel to the fire. It was appalling to both
to find on how many points they stood at variance.
Some half hour later, leaving Mary still on the edge of the bed, still
crying, Mahony stalked grimly into the surgery and taking pen and paper
scrawled, without even sitting down to do it:
YOU DAMNED SCOUNDREL! IF EVER YOU SHOW YOUR FACE HERE AGAIN, I'LL THRASH
YOU TO WITHIN AN INCH OF YOUR LIFE.
Pages:
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486