"No, I am not mad," he said, and faintly smiled.
"I am just looking after our joint interests, that's all."
She opened her eyes wide. "Still I don't understand you," she said. "I thought you promised—I thought we agreed—that you were never to interfere with my liberty."
"Unless you abused it," said Burke.
She flinched a little in spite of herself, so uncompromising were both his tone and attitude. But in a moment she drew herself erect, facing him fearlessly.
"I don't think you know—quite—what you are saying to me," she said. "You are tired, and you are looking at things—all crooked. Will you please take a rest this afternoon? I am sure you need it. And to-night—" She paused a moment, for, her courage notwithstanding, she had begun to tremble—"to-night,"—she said again, and still paused, feeling his hand tighten upon her, feeling her heart quicken almost intolerably under its weight.
"Yes?" he said, his voice low, intensely quiet, "Please finish!
What am I to do to-night?"
She faced him bravely, with all her strength. "I hope," she said, "you will come and tell me you are sorry."
He threw up his head with a sharp gesture. She saw his eyes kindle and burn with a flame she dared not meet.
A swift misgiving assailed her. She tried to release herself, but he took her by the other shoulder also, holding her before him.