His attitude had become that of a cross-examiner.
"Yes, Ned. You were in fearful shape. You know that for days after you—"
"And you've relied on him to give you news of me?"
He stood erect and moved nearer, watching her face closely as her eyes became less certain, her cheeks a deeper color.
"Yes, Ned. Don't get worked up. It's been all right. I'm sure the weeks you put in here have given...."
"Given what?" he broke in, brows gathering, thrusting out his chin, glaring at her and drawing back his lips to bare the gap left by the broken and missing teeth.
The woman recoiled.
"Give what?" he demanded again, trembling from knee to fingers. "To give him a chance to come and see you, that's what you've given!"
"Ned Ly—"—crouching, a hand to one cheek, Ann backed into Bayard's room quickly as her husband, fists clenched and raised, lurched toward her.
"Don't talk to me!" he cried thickly, face dark, voice unnatural. "Don't talk to me,"—looking not at her eyes but at her heaving breast. "I know. I know now what I should have known weeks ago! I know now why he's been shaving his pretty face every day, why he's been dolling up every time he left for town, putting on his gay scarfs, changing his shirts like a gentleman, instead of a dirty hound that would steal a man's wife as soon as he would steal a neighbor's calf! I know why he's held me here and lied to me and played the hypocrite,"—words running together under the intensity of his raving.