Benton looked up quickly, but Hammond’s expression was blank. He must be mistaken in thinking that last remark revealed a tinge of veiled sarcasm.
“Have you any suggestions to offer?” he asked, lighting a fresh cigar.
“I may have several to offer—but first it will be necessary for me to ask you a few questions.” Hammond’s reply was calmly non-committal.
“Very well—go ahead.”
“I asked you this question before, but you happened to drift away from the subject. What I want to know is—just what was it that caused Mrs. Benton to change her mind?”
“Early last evening, I went to my wife honestly,” Hugh was angry to feel himself blushing at the word, “told her exactly what had happened and pleaded with her to grant me my freedom. She refused, absolutely, and I left the house indignant and determined to find some way or means by which I could compel her to listen to me. When I came home with Howard this morning, I lost complete control of myself and accused her openly of being responsible for all the misfortune which had come to us.”
“Did that seem fair—to you?” Hammond demanded sternly.
“Yes—it did.” Stubbornly Hugh held to his fatuous belief and condoning of himself. “She was entirely to blame for our coming here, and——”
“For Heaven’s sake, Benton.” Irritably the lawyer jumped from his chair to pace the floor. “You can’t mean to sit there—a man of your intelligence—and tell me, with all sincerity, that you hold your coming to New York responsible for the existing conditions?”
“Absolutely! If we had remained in——”