My face got hot, and I felt guilty, though of what, I did not know.
“Well? Why don’t you answer me? What was that notorious libertine, Stevens, and that beast, Davidson, doing here?” he shouted, and then as still I did not answer him, he yelled: “Why don’t you answer me instead of standing there and staring at me, looking your guilt? God in heaven! have I been a fool about you? Have you been false to me then?”
“No, Reggie, indeed, I haven’t,” I said. “I didn’t tell you about Ellen and I going out with him because—because—”
I thought he must have heard of that ride!
“Going out with him! When? Where?”
Suddenly he saw the money in my hand, and the sight of it seemed to drive him wild.
“What are you doing with that money? Where did you get it from?”
I was holding the two ten-dollar bills all the time in my hand.
“Are you crazy, Reggie?” I cried. “How can you be so silly? This is the money Mr. Davidson paid me for these paintings.”
“Well, then, what are you doing here if he bought them?” demanded Reggie.