She spoke with hesitation, at moments with difficulty, as if seeking to gain time, to find answers for his awkward questions. But she did not deceive him. Brockton was too much the man of the world to be easily hoodwinked. He knew she was lying, and his face flushed with anger.
"How soon do you expect him back?" he demanded.
"Quite soon," she replied, with an effort to be calm. "I don't know just exactly how long he'll be."
She turned her back and proceeded with her packing. He came nearer and stood overlooking the trunk.
"And you mean to tell me that you kept your promise and told him the truth?" he persisted.
She stammered confusedly, and then, her patience exhausted, she broke out into open defiance.
"What business have you got to ask me that? What business have you got to interfere, anyway?"
Rising and going to the bed in the alcove, she took the dresses and carried them to the sofa. Brockton followed her, his fists clenched.
"Then you've lied again!" he cried furiously. "You lied to him, and you just tried to lie to me now. You're not particularly clever at it, although I don't doubt but that you've had considerable practice."
With a contemptuous shrug of his shoulders, he walked over to the chair at the table and sat down, still holding his hat in his hand, and without removing his overcoat. Laura came back laden with more things. Seeing Brockton sitting, she stopped, and, turning on him, laid the dresses down.