"I live with him because he gave me that for which I married him. He fulfilled his part of the bargain. I must fulfil mine. I was nothing but his bailiff's daughter, remember; a bailiff who had robbed him—for whose escape from penal servitude I paid the price."
"Great Heavens!" said Nap.
She turned to him quickly, with an impulsiveness that was almost girlish. "I have never told anyone else," she said. "I tell you because I know you are my friend and because I want you to understand. We will never—please—speak of it again."
"Wait!" Nap's voice rang stern. "Was it part of the bargain that he should insult you, trample on you, make you lead a dog's life without a single friend to make it bearable?"
She did not attempt to answer him. "Let us go back," she said.
He wheeled at once, still holding her hands.
They skated a few yards in silence. Then suddenly, almost under his breath, he spoke. "I am not going to give up my friendship with you. Let that be clearly understood."
"You are very good to me," she said simply.
"No. I am not. I am human, that's all. I don't think this state of affairs can last much longer."
She shuddered. Her husband's condition had been very much worse of late, but she did not tell him so.