to want to strangle you! Come then, Darling,” and he held out his arms, “let me make it up to you.”
But she had not recovered from that sudden glimpse of guilty fear which she had read in the man’s face. All her woman’s instinct told her that it was not the mere fright of a man who is startled. Guilt—that was it—guilt and fear!
“What’s come over you, Jack?” she cried. “Why were you so scared of me? Oh, Jack, if your conscience was at ease, you would not have looked at me like that!”
“Sure, I was thinking of other things, and when you came tripping so lightly on those fairy feet of yours”
“No, no, it was more than that, Jack.” Then a sudden suspicion seized her. “Let me see that letter you were writing.”
“Ah, Ettie, I couldn’t do that.”
Her suspicions became certainties. “It’s to another woman,” she cried. “I know it! Why else should you hold it from me? Was it to your wife that you were writing? How am I to know that you are not a married man—you, a stranger, that nobody knows?”
