"You do not accept it?" said he, ruffled at once, and feeling that she was now the one in the wrong.
"I do not care any thing about it, one way or the other."
He was silent for a moment, then: "I hardly blame you," said he, with a great air of generous concession. "I've been out of temper, rude—disgracefully so—for some time. I'm sorry." And he stood looking at her expectantly, more complacent than penitent.
"I see you think a few words are enough to make up for all you've done."
"What more can I do? It's not a bit like you, Courtney, to——"
"And what do you know about me?" inquired she, turning half round and looking calmly at him over her shoulder. "It's quite true," she went on, "that I have no means of support but what I earn here as your housekeeper and—wife. But, I——"
"Courtney!" he cried in a tone of imperative rebuke.
"A few plain words—of truth—seem to shock you more than your own conduct."
"Such language from you! But you did not realize what you were saying."
"I did. I meant just what I said."