“I will! You have no right to keep me here.”
“Be quiet, I say.” He forced her toward the center of the room.
She burst into tears. “How dare you treat me like this?” she cried. “How dare you? Are you mad?”
“If I am, it is you who have made me so,” he said, in a fury. “You talk about love, and repentance, and you come here and insult and humiliate me with every word you say—with everything about you. Whom do you have to thank for that dress, that coat, those diamonds, that jeweled purse, and the money in it? West! West! West!” He swept upon her a look that made her eyes fall. “I tell you I won’t have it—do you understand? I won’t have it!”
She stared at him in absolute amazement, and, with her wonder there came a feeling of admiration, almost, at his mastery of her. Never before, in all the eight years of their married life, had she seen him as he was now—never before had he dominated her. She felt a child in his grasp, and in some strange way her anger began to leave her, and a sense almost of gladness at this primitive method of dealing with the problem which confronted them swept over her.
“Donald,” she called softly to him. “Donald!” but he did not hear her.
“You are my wife—mine, do you hear?” he cried, then tore from her arm the jeweled purse, and flung it violently from him. “Take off those things—take them off! The sight of them insults me!” He grasped the lace coat she held over her arm, and threw it aside. “He gave you this necklace—damn him!” he cried, tearing it from her neck, and throwing it upon the floor.
She looked up at him, amazed. “Donald—listen to me—please!” she cried.
He paid no attention to her. “Do as I tell you,” he commanded. “Take off that stuff—take it off!”
She tremblingly removed from her fingers a diamond and ruby ring, and another of pearls, which her mother had persuaded her to buy.