“She’s temporarily lost her memory.”
“Lost her memory!” echoed Imbrie incredulously. He stared at Clare with sharp, eager eyes that transfixed her like a spear. She turned away to escape it. Imbrie drew a long breath, the ruddy colour returned to his cheeks, the old impudent grin wreathed itself about his lips once more.
“Too bad!” he said, with a leer. “You don’t recognize your hubby!”
Clare shrank back, and involuntarily flung an arm up over her face.
Stonor saw red. “Hold your tongue!” he cried, suddenly beside himself.
Imbrie cringed from the clenched fist. “Can’t a man speak to his wife?” he snarled.
“Speak to her with respect, or I’ll smash you!”
“You daren’t! You’ve got to treat me well. It’s regulations.”
“Damn the regulations! You mind what I tell you!”
Imbrie looked from one to another with insufferable malice. “Ah! So that’s the way the wind lies,” he drawled.