“I don’t wonder you don’t want to tell me,” he snapped. “You needn’t. It isn’t necessary. I know where you were. You were down in that fish shanty of Eldridge’s and that young Griffin was with you. That is so, isn’t it?”
She was pale, but she no longer hesitated. Her reply was promptly given.
“Yes,” she said.
He nodded, grimly. “I’m glad you don’t lie about it, at any rate,” he said. “And you have been going there for a fortnight, haven’t you?”
“No. Not for a fortnight. I have been there five times altogether.”
“Humph! Why didn’t you tell me what you were up to? Did you think I wouldn’t be interested?”
“No.”
“Then why did you keep it to yourself?”
She met his look with one as steady.
“Because—well, because he was painting my picture—a portrait of me—and I—we didn’t want you to know about it until it was finished.”