“Perhaps I am,” said Crabb, slowly, “but I’m in earnest, too. Do what I ask, Patricia. Don’t ride to-morrow——”
“And if I should refuse——”
Crabb shrugged his broad shoulders and turned away.
“It would be too bad,” he said, “that’s all.”
“But how can you do such a thing,” she cried, “without a reason—without any excuse? Why, Heywood has been here every day for——” and then broke off in confusion.
Crabb smiled rather grimly, but he generously passed the opportunity by.
“Every reason that I wish—every excuse that I need. Isn’t that enough?”
“No, it isn’t—I refuse to believe anything about him.” Crabb looked at his wife sombrely.
“Then we’d better say no more. Your attitude makes it impossible for me to argue the question. Good-night.” He opened the door and stood waiting for her to go out. She hesitated a moment and then swept by him, her very ruffles breathing rebellion.
The next morning he kissed her good-bye when she was reading her mail.