She said nothing, but he knew she was trembling. As they entered Mrs. O'Brien's alley, they paused where it was dark enough, halfway between gaslights, for a man to put his arm around his wife's waist and kiss her. (Bingo growled.)
"Eleanor! I've a great mind to go back to that hell-cat, and tell her what I think of her!"
"No. Very likely she's right. I—I have injured you. Oh, Maurice, if I have—"
"You'd have injured me a damn sight more if you hadn't married me!" he said.
But for the moment her certainty that her marriage was a glorious and perfect thing, collapsed; her voice was a broken whisper:
"If I've spoiled your life—she says I have;—I'll ... kill myself, Maurice." She spoke with a sort of heavy calmness, that made a small, cold thrill run down his back; he burst into passionate protest:
"All I am, or ever can be, will be because you love me! Darling, when you say things like—like what you said, I feel as if you didn't love me—"
Of course the reproach tautened her courage; "I do! I do! But—"
"Then never say such a wicked, cruel thing again!"
It was when Bingo had been left with Mrs. O'Brien that, on their way back to the hotel, Maurice, in a burst of enthusiasm, invited his third bad moment: "I am going to have a rattling old dinner party to celebrate your escape from the hag! How about Saturday night?"