“Are you displeased, Camille?” he asked, anxiously. “Why, I thought any woman would be delighted with so lovely a pet. I assure you she will win your heart as soon as you look into her sunny blue eyes.”
She flung off his caressing hand as if it were a serpent, and with blazing eyes, hissed out:
“A likely tale! Rescued from the wreck—ha! ha!”
“My God, Camille, what do you mean by your scorn?” he cried, aghast.
She turned on him like a beautiful tigress.
“I mean, Norman de Vere, that you can not deceive me with such a trumped-up tale! How dare you, dare you, think to bring home your base-born brat, issue of some shameless clandestine affair, to the shelter of this honest roof?”
CHAPTER IV.
Norman de Vere was by no means unacquainted with the passionate and jealous temper of his wife, having experienced its evil effects many times during the two years in which he had been her husband.
But her present outburst was so unexpected and so reasonless that he almost recoiled in terror from the fierce and angry glitter of the hazel eyes and the bitter sneer that distorted her lovely mouth.
He could not speak. Sheer indignation and amazement held him silent, and pointing a disdainful finger at him, the angry woman continued: