"Damme if you're worth the candle!" he said.
She turned and began walking quietly away from him.
This seemed quite to frenzy him.
He leaped over the fallen book and came at her like a bull, his head lowered. He took her by both shoulders.
"Look here!" he said. "What do you mean by wearing those pearls of Gerald's all the time?"
Sophy looked at him whitely. She smiled.
"They were given me to wear, I believe."
"He's in love with you—with his brother's wife! But I'll not have his baubles on your neck, nor antlers on my own head. Off with them!"
She stood frozenly. Her dark eyes poured scorn upon him. He made a snatch at the necklace—another. She stood quite motionless, while the great, angry hands snatched at her throat. His last clutch broke the string. The pearls rained down, some into her bosom, the greater part upon the polished floor. He stood heavily, gazing at the little white drops, as they rolled over the dark wood of the parquet.
While he gazed as if hypnotised, Sophy went swiftly out into the hall. She closed the door behind her. Her voice roused him, saying: "Mr. Chesney isn't feeling well enough to go out to-night. I shall go alone. Is the cab there?"