"What's that?" he demanded, impatient at these continual interruptions to his amorous advances.
Turning she looked steadily into his face, as if trying to read the truth or falsity of his answer. She could not see his eyes, veiled as they were by the glasses, but that sensitive mouth she knew so well, that determined chin, that high forehead crowned by the bushy brown hair with its solitary white lock—all these were as dear to her as they had always been. To think that he might have fondled some other woman as he was now fondling her was intolerable agony.
"Kenneth," she said slowly and impressively, "are you sure that there is no part of your life that you have kept hidden from me?"
He started and for a moment changed color. What did she mean? Was it possible that she suspected the substitution, or was she alluding to some past history of his brother's life, of which he knew nothing? Evasively, he answered:
"Why all these question, sweetheart, the first day I come home. Is this the kind of welcome you promised me, the one I had a right to expect. I am very tired. Let us go to bed."
His arm still around her, he again drew her to him and, stooping, tried to reach her mouth with his own. But again she resisted, her mind too disturbed by jealousy to be in a mood to respond to his wooing. Gently she said:
"I know you are tired, Ken. I am tired, too,—tired of all these rumors and slanderous insinuations. I have been made unhappy by hearing this gossip. It is my right to tell you what I have heard and ask for a straightforward, loyal explanation. I know you are true to me. I have never doubted it for an instant. I only want a word from you to forget what I've heard and dismiss the matter from my mind forever."
He looked at her, an amused kind of expression playing about the corners of his mouth. It was only with an effort that he controlled the muscles of his face. What a comedy, he thought to himself! Here was this sweet little woman breaking her heart over something which, as far as he knew, didn't exist. But he must continue to play his part, no matter at what cost. Evidently, she had heard something for which there might be some basis of truth. She might even have proofs of his brother's infidelity, and ready to produce them. Too sweeping a denial might still further complicate matters, arouse suspicion, and end in exposure. Cautiously, he replied:
"You know all there is in my life, sweetheart. I never conceal anything from you."
Looking searchingly at him, she demanded: