Marise was silent.
"That's what you do think, isn't it?" he insisted.
"Something of the sort may have flitted through my head."
"Well, if I'm not above bribery and corruption—and the rest of it—that's on my own conscience. In other words, it's my own business. Your business is—to keep up appearances, and at the same time keep up the proprieties."
"That's one way of expressing it!"
"Yes, again my beastly vulgar way! But I won't stop to apologise because I know you're in a hurry to settle this question between us once for all. Because, when it is settled, it will be once for all, so far as I'm concerned."
"I see. Go on, please!"
He looked at her, a long look. "You and I are here alone together," he said. "Husband and wife! For we are married, you know. Does that make you shiver—or shudder?"
"I don't think we feel very married—either of us," Marise answered in a small, ingratiating voice, like a child's.
"You don't know how I feel," said Garth. "But I'm not anxious to punish you by torture for anything you've done, no matter what you may deserve, so I won't keep you in suspense. You admit that if—we did 'feel married,' and if—we cared about each other as ordinary new-married couples do, this 'bridal suite'—as they call it—would be the proper dodge?"