She slightly raised her hand, and pointed to the chair he had left; he kicked it savagely away. She spoke, her hands still extended. "Stewart, I do not understand you, but I am not taken in by you. What are you aiming at? Why are you pretending to this violent and unreasonable anger?"
"Pretending!" he exclaimed, with an oath; "it is no pretence, as you shall find. Pretending! Woman, you have ruined me, and I say--"
"And I say," she interposed, as she slowly rose, and stood upright before him, her head raised, her steady eyes still mercilessly set on his, "this is a vain and ridiculous pretence. You cannot long conceal its motive from me: whatever game you are playing, I will find it out."
"Will yon, by--?" he said, fiercely.
"I will, for your own sake," she answered calmly. And, standing before him, she touched him lightly on the breast with her small white hand. "Stop! don't speak. I say, for your own sake. You and I, Stewart, who were once one, are two now; but that makes no change in me. I don't reproach you."
"Oh, don't you?" he said. "I know better. There's been nothing but whining and reproaches lately."
"Now you are acting again, and again I tell you I will find out why. The day of reproach can never--shall never--come; the day of ruin is near, awfully near--"
"You've taken care of that."
"Again! You ought to know me better, Stewart; you can't lie to me undetected. In time I shall know the truth, now I discern the lie. But all this is vain. Read once more." She took up the letter, smoothed it out, and held it towards him. He struck it out of her hand, and cursed her.
She looked at him in blank amazement for a moment, and then said: