Her husband apparently made a like resolve, for he, too, sat speechless. How long was he going to keep her? and she restlessly drew out her watch, then made a motion as if to rise. A hand, however, was extended before her. She must sit there until she made further revelations. “I will not,” she determined, obstinately; but not a minute later a new thought entered her variable mind, and she made a slight movement indicative of curiosity.
She wisely waited, and after a time she said, hesitatingly, “’Steban—”
“Nina—”
She was nervously playing with his handkerchief, and, as if it supplied a suggestion, she raised her head. “Why do I have a fine handkerchief and you a coarse one?”
“There you are grappling with one of the heavy problems of life.”
“Have I any right to a fine one? Was I born to anything better than you?” she went on, in the same tentative manner.
A light broke over him, of which, however, no external flashes appeared. “That fool belongs to her father’s gang,” he scornfully reflected; “he has been asked to watch me, and suspects who she is. His game is to make her think she is being kept out of something, so she will join them. Well, my man, we shall see what we shall see.” Aloud he remarked, “Apparently, you may lay a just claim to more purple and fine linen than I possess.”
“Could you have it if you wished it? Would it be your right, or have I really more claim to things?” she urged. “Do not mind telling me, I would not care even—even if you had made some mistakes.”
“What kind of mistakes?”
“Well—I don’t know. Errors in judgment, we will say.”