She answered it almost in spite of herself. "For making me hate you."
He made a slight movement as of one who shifts his hold upon some chafing creature to strengthen his grip. "How have I done that?" he said.
She answered him in a quick, breathless rush of words that betrayed her failing strength completely. "By doubting me—by being jealous and showing it—by—by—by insulting me!"
"What?" he said.
She turned from him sharply and walked away, battling with herself. "You know what I mean," she said tremulously. "You know quite well what I mean. You were angry yesterday—angry because Hans Schafen—a servant—had told you something that made you distrust me. And because you were angry, you—you—you insulted me!" She turned round upon him suddenly with eyes of burning accusation. She was fighting, fighting, with all her might, to hide from him that frightened, quivering thing that she herself had recognized but yesterday. If it had been a plague-spot, she could not have guarded it more jealously. Its presence scared her. Her every instinct was to screen it somehow, somehow, from those keen eyes. For he was so horribly strong, so shrewd, so merciless!
He came up to her as she wheeled. He took one of her quivering wrists, and held it, his fingers closely pressed upon the leaping pulse. "Sylvia!" he said, and this time there was an edge to his voice that made her aware that he was putting force upon himself. "I have never insulted you—or distrusted you. Everything was against me yesterday. But when I left you, I gave all I possessed into your keeping. It is in your keeping still. Does that look like distrust?"
She gave, a quick, involuntary start, but he went on, scarcely pausing.
"When a man is going into possible danger, and his wife is thinking of—other things, is he so greatly to blame if he takes the quickest means at his disposal of waking her up?"
"Ah!" she said. Had he not waked her indeed? But yet—but yet—She looked at ham doubtfully.
"Listen!" he said. "We've been going round in a circle lately. It's been like that infernal game we used to play as children. 'Snail,' wasn't it called? Where nobody ever got home and everybody always lost their tempers! Let's get out of it, Sylvia! Let's leave Guy and Schafen to look after things, and go to the top of the world by ourselves! I'll take great care of you. You'll be happy, you know. You'll like it."