She looked at him, struck at last by his silence and his attitude, or pausing for some comment, some appreciation of her cleverness in ferreting it all out.
But he did not speak, and she was puzzled. The angry triumph in her eyes faltered. She put out her hand and touched him on the arm.
"What is it, George? I thought—it would be more satisfactory to us both to know the truth."
He looked up quickly.
"And all this your maid got out of Justine? You asked her?"
She was struck, offended, by his expression. It was so cool and strange—even, she could have imagined, contemptuous.
"Yes, I did," she said passionately. "I thought I was quite justified. We must protect ourselves."
He was silent again.
"I think," he said at last, drily, she watching him—"I think we will keep Justine and Grier out of it, if you please."
She took her work, and laid it down again, her mouth trembling.