"I've given that cur a lesson he won't forget," he exclaimed, breathing hard, the redness deepening in his face.
She turned on him in joy and trembling. "John!—Oh, John! You didn't follow him? Oh, what happened? What have you done?"
"No. I didn't follow him. But there are some things that even the powers above can't stand. And so they managed to let me run across him—by the merest accident—and I gave him something to remember."
He spoke in a strong clear voice that had a brightness like the brightness in his eyes. She felt its heat in her veins—the primitive woman in her glowed at contact with the primitive man. But reflection chilled her the next moment.
"But why—why? Oh, how could you? Where did it happen—oh, not in the street?"
As she questioned him, there rose before her the terrified vision of a crowd gathering—the police, newspapers, a hideous publicity. He must have been mad to do it—and yet he must have done it because he loved her!
"No—no. Don't be afraid. The powers looked after that too. There was no one about—and I don't think he'll talk much about it."
She trembled, fearing yet adoring him. Nothing could have been more unlike the Amherst she fancied she knew than this act of irrational anger which had magically lifted the darkness from his spirit; yet, magically also, it gave him back to her, made them one flesh once more. And suddenly the pressure of opposed emotions became too strong, and she burst into tears.
She wept painfully, violently, with the resistance of strong natures unused to emotional expression; till at length, through the tumult of her tears, she felt her husband's reassuring touch.
"Justine," he said, speaking once more in his natural voice.