And then he leaves you this money. There was something
between you, and I want to know what it was. You're not helping
yourself by getting on your dignity and talking about my not trusting
you instead of explaining these things."
"A short time ago," Hazel told him quietly, "Mr. Bush asked me to marry
him. I refused, of course. He--"
"You refused!" Barrow interrupted cynically. "Most girls would have
jumped at the chance."
"Jack!" she protested.
"Well," Barrow defended, "he was almost a millionaire, and I've got
nothing but my hands and my brain. But suppose you did refuse him.
How does that account for the five thousand dollars?"
"I think," Hazel flung back passionately, "I'll let you find that out
for yourself. You've said enough now to make me hate you almost. Your
very manner's an insult."
"If you don't like my manner--" Barrow retorted stormily. Then he cut
his sentence in two, and glared at her. Her eyes glistened with
slow-welling tears, and she bit nervously at her under Up. Barrow
shrugged his shoulders. The twin devils of jealousy and distrust were
riding him hard, and it flashed over Hazel that in his mind she was
prejudged, and that her explanation, if she made it, would only add
fuel to the flame.
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