“Good Lord!” The utter stupefaction on Raynor’s face proved that this was the last of all questions which he had expected to hear. He came across the room, and stood staring down into his wife’s face. “What the dickens is up?”
“Nothing is up. I asked you a simple question. What should be up?”
“I thought you’d taken offence at something I’d done!”
“You have done nothing in the least unusual that I know of. I rather wish you had. Do you, Bernard?”
“Do I what?”
“You know quite well, but I’ll ask you again, if you prefer it. Do you love me, Bernard?”
The man’s ruddy face took a deeper tinge.
“I say, Cass, what rot is this? That was settled and done with years ago. I married you. You’re my wife. If you are not sure of me by this time, you never will be.”
“You are quite sure of yourself?”
“Of course I am. What d’you mean? I’m not the sort to er—er—”