"Yes, Jerry and I. It's no good telling you how it happened. You won't believe me if I do."
He made no comment. Only after a moment he put his hand on her shoulder.
"Have you anything else to say?" he asked.
She shook her head without speaking. She was shivering all over.
"Very well, then," he said. "Come into the other room—you seem cold."
She went with him submissively. The fire had sunk low, and he replenished it. The hunting crop that he had brought from her father's house lay on the table with Jerry's banjo. He picked it up and put it away in a corner.
"Sit down," he said.
She sank upon the sofa, hiding her face. He took up his stand on the rug, facing her.
"Now," he said quietly, "do you remember my telling you that you had married a savage? I see you do. And you are afraid of me in consequence. I am a savage. I admit it. I hurt you that night. I meant to hurt you. I meant you to see that I was in earnest. I meant you to realize that you were my wife. I meant—I still mean—to master you. But I did not mean to terrify you as you were terrified, as you are terrified now. I made a mistake, and for that mistake I desire to apologize."
He stooped and drew one of her hands away from her face.