“You're my wife!” he said.
Mrs. Bellew smiled.
“Come,” she answered, “you must go!” and she put out her bare arm to push him back. But Bellew recoiled of his own accord; his eyes were fixed again on the floor a little beyond her to the left.
“What's that?” he stammered. “What's that—that black——?”
The devilry, mockery, admiration, bemusement, had gone out of his face; it was white and calm, and horribly pathetic.
“Don't turn me out,” he stammered; “don't turn me out!”
Mrs. Bellew looked at him hard; the defiance in her eyes changed to a sort of pity. She took a quick step and put her hand on his shoulder.
“It's all right, old boy—all right!” she said. “There's nothing there!”