"What more do you want?" he asked.
I took the bull by the horns. I had wanted to for weeks.
"Freely, unreservedly, the nature of your relations with Marcia Van Wyck—"
He rose suddenly, his face flushing darkly and took up his rod and creel.
"If you don't mind my saying so," he muttered, "that is none of your affair."
I rose, though his reproach stung me bitterly.
"Confidences and advice are inseparable," I said coldly.
"You hate Marcia," he mumbled.
"I do."
"Why?"