“If I did, who’s to blame?” he rejoined surlily. “A woman as cold as you——”
“Yes, that’s true now, that’s true! But why should you care? Only, I’ll not go on this way any farther.”
Hands in pockets, he only turned away, growling.
“Oh, yes, back home,” she went on, her hands at the sides of her temples, “I seemed to be able to stand it. But here—things seem plainer, some way.”
His sneer had the sullen anger of a man who knows the indefensibility of his position. “That long-legged lout has taught you to cheek me too. Damn him!”
“Jim,” said she, “I don’t like to hear such things of you. It’s not worthy of the man you used to be. When we get back to the city we’ll have to get on some other way. I’ll go on through with you now, because I know your business interests are in real danger. I won’t say anything now. But that’s all. I’m done. This is good-by for you and me.”
Dumfounded, Haddon left her and went out again into the darkness. He sat moodily, his cigar hanging from his flabby lips. Mutiny such as this he had never suspected as a possible thing from a woman like his wife. There came to him, sternly facing him now, two influences—new in his life of bluffing and jollying and pretending and evading and deceiving—the indomitableness of a real man and the immutability of a real woman.