"All but yourself," she said quietly; "you were always cold."
"I!"
"You were! You were!" she said sharply, annoyed at the contradiction. But quickly remembering herself, she continued with only a regretful sadness in her voice:
"Always cold, always matter-of-fact. Bob of the head in the morning, jerk of the head at night. When I was happy over a new dress or a new hat you never noticed it—until the bill came in. You were always matter-of-fact, absolutely confident I was yours, body and soul."
"By George, that's too much!" he cried furiously. "That's a fine one. I'm to blame—of course I'm to blame!"
She drew a step away from him, and said:
"Listen! No, listen quietly, for when I've told you I shall go."
Despite himself, his anger vanished at her quiet command.
"If I listen," he thought, "it's all over."
He still believed he was resisting, only he wanted to hear as he had never wanted anything else—to learn why she was not going to the other man.