"Caylesham!"
He held her wrist a moment longer, then dropped it, and looked aimlessly round the room.
She rubbed her wrist and glared at him with sullen eyes, her fury dying down into a malicious rancour.
"There, that's what you get from your meddling and your preaching!" she said. "I never meant to give Christine away, I never wanted to. It's your doing; you made me angry, and I hit out at you where I could. I wish to God you had never come here, John! Christine's one of the few women who are friendly to me, and now I've—— But you've yourself to thank for it."
He sank slowly into a chair; she heard him mutter "Caylesham!" again.
"If you know I've a quick temper, why do you exasperate me? You exasperate me, and then I do a thing like that! Oh, I'm not thinking of you; I'm thinking of poor Christine. I hate myself now, and that's your doing too!"
She flung herself into her chair and began to sob tempestuously. John stared past her to the wall.
"It's just what Tom's always done," she moaned through her sobs—"making me lose my temper, and say something, and then——" Her words became inarticulate.
Presently her sobs ceased; her face grew hard and set again.
"Well, are you going to sit there all day?" she asked. "Is it so pleasant that you want to stay? Do you still think you can teach me the error of my ways?"