"Oh, you mistake my meaning. I wasn't thinking of Mrs. Cheyne. I was selfish enough to be still thinking of myself."
"I don't understand."
She got up and walked to the window, leaning her face against the pane to soothe with its coolness the heat of her brow. "I was thinking of my own dishonor—not yours—I have nothing to do with yours. To be doubted as you have doubted me—to know that you could believe me capable of dishonoring you—that is dishonor enough."
"You mustn't forget that you gave me cause," he said hoarsely. "What kind of a man do you think I am? You married me for a whim—because another man wouldn't have you. I forgave you that because I was willing to take you at any price. That was my fault as much as yours. It was what came after——"
He came up behind her, his voice trembling but suppressed.
"Do you think I'm the kind of man to tolerate the things between you and Cort Bent? I was a fool once. I believed in you—I thought no matter how little love you had in your heart for me that you'd have enough respect for yourself. Do you think I could stand knowing that my servants had seen you in his arms?"
She flashed around at him, breathless, paler than ever, clutching at the window-sill behind her for support. "Who—who told you this?"
"Greer—my valet at the hotel," he snarled, "when I discharged him and came here."
"He said——?"
Jeff caught her by the elbows—brutally—and held her so that he could look into her eyes.