"I am sorry for you," she said.
"You don't seem very glad to see me," he answered roughly. "I might have known it."
"Yes, you might have known it."
It seemed a very hard and cruel thing to say, and Mary Goddard was very far from being a cruel woman by nature; but she was stunned by fear and disgust and horrified by the possibilities of harm suddenly brought before her.
Goddard pushed his plate away and leaned his elbows upon the table supporting his chin in his hands. He scowled at her defiantly.
"You have given me a warm reception, after nearly three years of—separation." There was a bitter sneer in the word.
"I am horrified to see you here," she said simply. "You know very well that I cannot conceal you—"
"Oh, I don't expect miracles," said Goddard contemptuously. "I don't know that, when I came here, I expected to cause you any particularly agreeable sensation. I confess, when a woman has not seen her beloved husband for three years, one might expect her to show a little feeling—"
"I will do what I can for you, Walter," said his wife, whose unnatural calm was fast yielding to an overpowering agitation.
"Then give me fifty pounds and tell me the nearest way east," answered the convict savagely.