He looked at me half angrily, and the blood sprang into his cheeks. Then he took a step forward.
"She came between us!" he said, lowering his voice, but speaking with a new fierceness.
I felt as if he had struck me, and I shrank back. Then I straightened up, and looked him in the eye.
"You don't dare to say that aloud," I retorted. "You left me of your own accord. You insult me to come here and say such a thing, and I will not hear it. If you mean to talk in that strain, you may leave the house."
He was naturally a good deal taken aback by this, and perhaps I should not—Yes, I should; I am glad I did say it. He stammered something about begging my pardon.
"Let that go," interrupted I, feeling as if I had endured about all that I could hear. "The question is whether you are not going to be just to your wife."
"You fight mighty well for her," responded George, "but if you knew how she"—
"Never mind," I broke in. "Can't you see I am fighting for you? I am trying to make you see you owe it to yourself to be right in this; and moreover you owe it to me."
"To you?" he asked, with a touch in his voice which should have warned me, but did not, I was so wrapped up in my own view of the situation.