She drew back gasping. "You—you—you!" she cried. She was scarlet. Then she said, "How dare you!" She looked so lovely that I no longer wondered at Hubbard's infatuation.
"You should not have kept it from him," I said severely. "But there, it's wonderful. How did you ever manage it? He is not an attractive man. And you—a butterfly. It is a miracle. There must be depths in you. Are marriages made in Heaven? I thought—he thinks—you married him for his money. And you love him! I shall never get over this. Lady Helen, you are a most amazing woman!"
She rushed at me panting with rage and, seizing my arm, shook it with both hands. "If ever you tell him—I'll—I'll kill you!" she hissed.
"But why?"
"He must find out himself. He must suffer. He deserves it. He has bitterly insulted me. He has shamed my sex. He must gnaw out his heart. In no other way can he be made like other men. I'll teach him. I'll teach him. Oh, if you dare to interfere! But you shan't—you would not dare."
"No," I said, "I would not dare."
Next second she was in another mood. Her anger melted to pathos and the little siren began to plead to me. "You know what I really want you to do is to help me," she murmured, oh! so prettily. "And it is all for Dixon's sake, or really and truly I would not ask. You see, Doctor, I am working on a system. Goodness, how I am trusting you! And you can help, oh! ever so much."
"Only tell me how."
"Do not lose a chance to revile me."
I was staggered. "I beg your pardon, Lady Helen!" I cried.