"So you hate me, do you?" he exclaimed.
"Yes, I do!" she cried. "And now will you let me go?"
"No, I won't," he replied determinedly. "Even though you do hate me, you're still my wife—you belong to me—"
She stared at him in amazement.
"Robert! What do you mean?" she cried.
Shrugging his shoulders contemptuously, he exclaimed:
"Who were you till I married you—nobody! What were you? A telephone girl getting ten dollars a week. And now who are you? You're Mrs. Robert Stafford! And what are you? You're the wife of one of the richest men in the country. And how did he get you for his wife? He bought you and he paid for you."
"You didn't!" she almost screamed, her face white with anger, her whole being trembling with nervous excitement.
"Oh, yes, I did," he went on coldly. "Did you love me when you married me? No. Would you have married me if I'd been poor? No! I bought you and I paid for you and anything I've bought and paid for belongs to me. And now will you kiss me?"
"No," she cried in desperation, her head thrown back, her hands clenched. "I will not!"