His face turned livid with rage. Clenching his fists menacingly, he advanced towards her.
"What did you do with it?" he thundered.
Shrinking from him, afraid of his violence, she replied faintly:
"I—I burned it."
"Why?" he shouted, in a fury.
Dazed, bewildered, almost hysterical, Laura was unable to answer. He advanced until he almost stood over her, his arm raised threateningly, as if about to strike her. She cowered before him.
"Why—why?" he repeated hoarsely.
Almost in tears, she murmured weakly:
"I—I couldn't help it. I simply couldn't help it."
Folding his arms he looked down at her with an expression in which pity was mingled with contempt. A straightforward man himself, he had no patience with lying. He could forgive her lying—it was natural to her—but she had made him appear a liar. With a sweeping gesture of his hand, which took in the whole room, and its luxurious contents, he said: