He went up to her with one of his unexpected, almost violent movements, snatched the hand which hung at her side, opened it—studied its pink palm. It had been carefully tended, but it bore unmistakable marks of hard usage.
"It seems to me that I have married the wrong woman," he said, letting it fall again. "It was your mother who ought to have been made to suffer."
"Mother has suffered a great deal," murmured Virginia.
He thrust his hands deep in his pockets, walked away, across the room, came back slowly, paused, staring at her.
"Tell me, for God's sake, what made you consent to such a marriage as this?"
She made a backward movement away from him, her eyes blazing, her temper high. "I did not consent—I never consented to such a marriage as this!"
She was in act to go out of the room. He put himself in the way. "What then? What did you expect?"
"I will not speak of it to you!"
"You will speak of what I please!" As she made to pass him, he took her by both arms, holding her before him. "You are to tell me what induced you to agree to marry me."
"Why should I tell you when you do not believe what I say?"