Maxwell paused and looked at her keenly, his right hand grasping firmly the pistol in his pocket.
"Then may I ask the reason of your very civil reception of me to-day?"
"The reason! Civil!"
"Yes, the reason, the motive: you must have one."
"Is not my love...."
"You promised to be frank," he said, menacingly.
"I did—I am so."
"Then let us have no subterfuge of language—speak plainly—it will be better for you."
"Maxwell, if you are come here to irritate me with your jealousy, and your absurd doubts, you have chosen a bad time. I am not well. I am not happy. I do not wish to quarrel with you—do not force me to it."
"Beware!" he said, in deep solemn tones.