"What's the matter? What have I done?" she asked, placably enough.
"I've found you out, that's all."
Not another word could she extract from him until they were in the flat. Coaxing and gentleness only made him more morose. She began to feel afraid. What she could not see, because she did not know that the stage had lost quite a convincingly bombastic actor in Woolf, was that much of his anger was assumed; nor did she know that he was spoiling for a quarrel and that he had found a very good handle upon which to hang one. So blinded was she by her devotion that, except for the fact that since his return she had seen less of him than usual, she had not observed a certain weariness in his manner toward her. She did not at all know what he meant by saying he had found her out. Hoping to placate him by a show of affection she made an attempt to kiss him. But he repulsed her.
"I've had enough of that," he scowled. "It's all shammed, and it comes easy to you, my girl. I was up here half-an-hour ago and I saw your dressing-case."
"Well," she rejoined, "you've seen it before, haven't you?"
"Not with a sheet of headed notepaper sticking out of it—Purton Towers, that swine Chalfont's place!"
Maggy's face cleared. She thought she knew now what the storm portended and how to weather it.
"Oh, is that all?" she said lightly. "I took it to wrap my toothbrush in, you goose! I was going to tell you about it all, but I forgot because I was so happy at having you back."
"A likely story! You expect me to believe you forgot to admit you've been carrying on with Chalfont!"
"Oh, Fred!" she cried, horrified at the allegation.