They sat down, and he helped her to food, she knew not what. There followed a silence that she felt to be terrible, a silence through which it came to her for the first time in her experience that Jake was angry. She looked at him no longer, but she felt as if his eyes were upon her unceasingly.
"What about coffee, Mrs. Bolton?" he said suddenly.
She gave a great start. The coffee-urn was in front of her. She proceeded to pour out for him, the cup clattering in the saucer she held.
He did not move to take it; she rose, as if compelled, and carried it to him.
As she set it down, his hand suddenly descended upon hers. He looked up into her face, faintly smiling.
"Maud, my girl, don't be such a fool!" he said. "Can't you see you're making a mistake?"
She froze in his grasp. "Don't touch me, please!" she said. "You--I--see things from a different standpoint. It may seem a small matter to you, but to me--to me--" She stopped. "Let me go!" she said, with a nervous effort to free herself.
But he held her still. "Say, now, do you think you're wise to treat me like this?" he said. "You've got to put up with me, remember. Wouldn't it be to your own interest to give me the benefit of the doubt?"
"There is no doubt," she said, speaking quickly, breathlessly. "You haven't tried to deny it. As to--to--putting up with you--" the hand he held clenched convulsively--"I have a little self-respect----"
"Call it pride!" interjected Jake softly.