“Repeat that!” he commanded savagely. “Will you dare to repeat that—that unutterable lie?”
His eyes, blazing with a terrible anger that seemed, to scorch her like a flame, searched her face with a scrutiny so pitiless, so implacably incredulous, that it was almost unbearable. But she endured it, and her clear golden eyes met his unflinchingly.
“It was the truth!” she said. Her voice sounded to herself as though it came from a great distance away. It had an odd, tinny sound like cracked metal.
He released her suddenly, almost flinging her from him, and she staggered a little, catching at the back of a chair to steady herself. His roughness roused her spirit.
“Eliot! Are you mad?” she exclaimed.
He stared at her, that burning ferocity of almost uncontrollable anger which had possessed him dying slowly out of his face.
“Mad?” he said grimly. “No, I’m not mad—now. I was mad yesterday—when I believed in you.”
The stark agony in his voice smote her to the heart.
“Eliot”—she moved towards him, her hands held out appealingly—“what have I done? Won’t you tell me? I don’t understand.”
“No?” His lips drew back over his teeth in a grimace that was a dreadful travesty of a smile. “Then I’ll ask you a simple question. Perhaps—after that—you’ll understand. Have you ever stayed at the Hotel de Loup?”