Still another moment of taut hesitation. At last:
"It's from Adrian Vance, Mark."
"Adrian Vance!"
Mark spat the name as if it were an epithet.
"Sshhh! Not so loud!" A pause. "He's an old friend, dear. I can't forbid him to send us a present. After all he's just trying to be polite."
The man's brown eyes were smouldering. "Those were fine company manners he showed off the night you told him you were going to marry me instead of him!"
Then, savagely:
"I should have knocked out a mouthful of that damned antique dealer's teeth right then! Of all the gall—threatening you; saying you'd regret turning him down—"
Again the girl silenced him.
"Adrian always expected to marry me," she reminded. "My refusal broke him up terribly. He was disappointed. Angry. So he said a lot of things he didn't really mean. Now he's trying to make up for it."