CHAPTER XXIII
The Quarrel
When Frederick Graves closed the door of the Skinner hut, he wheeled furiously upon his young wife.
"Come home," he said gruffly. "You've done enough harm for today."
"If I've done more than you have," retorted Madelene, tartly, "then I'm some little harm maker!" Suffering intensely from jealousy, she whirled about, crying, "That's what's been the matter with you all the time we've been abroad! And I know very well Tessibel Skinner sent for you to come home."
"That's a lie," interrupted Frederick, fiercely.
Madelene paused in her ascent of the hill lane.
"What made you come down here today, then, if you didn't want to see her yourself?"
Frederick was silent. He hated scenes like this. If he spoke his real mind, he'd plunge himself into hot water at once. And he was always careful not to do that. Silence at the present moment was better than speech. Besides, his late contact with Tessibel Skinner had left him aquiver. Oh, how he loved her! Every nerve in his body called out for sight of his beloved. He would have gone back to the shack if he'd dared.