"Now, Roger, look here," I said. "Didn't you tell me you weren't going to scold me any more, and you said I could do as I pleased, and be independent and—"
"I supposed you would be candid and truthful with me; I didn't suppose you'd be carrying on cheap little liaisons—"
When he got that far, I turned my back on him and walked out of the room.
I adored him, but I was not a worm.
I went back to the kitchen, and watched Margaret clean the turkey and make the stuffing. I thought I was much interested in that proceeding, but all the time I was wondering what he was doing, and soon I couldn't stand it any longer, and I went back to the living-room, which was also our library, but he was not there. I went up-stairs, with "my heart in my mouth," fearing he had gone. I found him, if you please, in my room. He was looking at the photographs on my bureau.
I came up behind him, slipped my hand through his arm, and rubbed my cheek against his sleeve. I could see his face in the mirror opposite us slowly softening.
"Are you still angry with me for nothing, Roger?" I asked.
"Was this fellow Lawrence in love with you, too?"
I nodded.