She met the earnest appeal in his eyes with a slight frown of annoyance.
“Who is to tell me the wife's side of the story?”
The question was like a blow to him. He stared at her as if he had not heard aright. Before he could speak she went on coolly.
“I dare say there are two sides to it, James. It's usually the case.”
He winced. “There is but one side to this one,” he said, a harsh note in his voice.
“That is why I began my inquiries with Mrs Desmond,” she said enigmatically. “But I shan't pursue them any farther. You love me; that is all I care to know—or that I require.”
“I do love you,” he said, almost imploringly. She stroked his gaunt cheek. “Then we may let the other woman—go hang, eh?”
He felt the cold sweat start on his brow. Her callous remark slashed his finer sensibilities like the thrust of a dagger. He tried to laugh, but only succeeded in producing a painful grimace.
“And now,” she went on, as if the matter were fully disposed of, “we will discuss something tangible, eh? Frederic.”
“Yes,” said he, rather dazedly. “Frederic.”