"Well, didn't you?"
He strode at her and took her by the shoulders. For a moment she thought, in her horror of him, that he would have struck her, and she threw back her head defying the blow with all the strength of her contempt. But his eyes daunted her. They were neither angry nor guilty—but bewildered.
"Anne, why in God's name did you marry me if you thought of me like that?"
Her lips quivered.
"I didn't think of you like that."
"No, perhaps you didn't. You couldn't have thought of me at all. You just imagined me—you never knew or wanted to know the man I really am. Now that the image is broken, there's nothing left. I am just—somebody you don't know—a total stranger, capable of anything——"
"Isn't it true?" she persisted stubbornly.
"No," he said. "It is not true." He thought a moment and then added with grave simplicity, "It would never have occurred to me. You were just some one I was very fond of. I wanted to take care of you."
She tried to laugh.
"I suppose, having murdered the father, you thought it was your duty to marry the daughter."