Paler than usual and with a stern look overspreading his face, Eugene Mallard waited for his wife to continue, as she seemed to have something more to say.
"If you objected to your friend dancing with me, you—you should have made the request before the engagements were made."
He looked at her angrily, his fair, handsome face flushing.
"A half dozen engagements should not have been made," he returned. "People will certainly comment upon it. They are already whispering of my friend's attention to you."
A strange look which he could not analyze crossed the beautiful face.
"You must stop this gossip," he went on, "or I will take measures to do so. I have made a request of you, and shown you why I made it. Will you grant it—for your own sake?"
"I refuse!" she repeated. "I am sorry that you do not think me capable of protecting my own name—and yours."
With something like a muttered imprecation on his lips, he turned on his heel, and strode rapidly from her side.
"Fool that I was!" he muttered, clinching his hands together. "To save her honor I married her. But what does she care for my honor?"
The breech between them grew wider than ever now.