It was a dangerous note to strike and the “dear Jim” gave away her sense of insecurity. It was almost an appeal to him not to see, or, at all events, not to tell her that he saw.
“Don’t talk about me,” he said very rudely. She knew the significance of his rudeness.
“Let us talk of whatever you will.”
“Of you, then. Don’t try to shut me out, Eppie.”
“Am I shutting you out?”
“You are trying to. You have succeeded with the rest, I suppose; but, as of course you know, you can’t succeed with me. I know too much. I care too much.”
His rough, tense voice beat down her barriers. She sat silent, oddly smiling.
He rose and came to her and stood above her, pressing the tips of his fingers heavily down upon her shoulder.
“You must tell me. I must know. I won’t stand not knowing.”
Motionless, without looking up at him, she still smiled before her.