"I use it as a term of identification! Good heavens! You act like a child. All I'm trying to do is get a little information—"
"For whom, Rhoda?"
He threw the question so suddenly it put Rhoda off balance. Quick fear flashed into her eyes. Then it vanished behind a wall of defiance.
"Are you out of your mind? Why would I have any interest in this mess except by way of protecting your interests?"
"My interests. I can remember not long ago when you'd have called them our interests."
"There you go again. Talking like a child!"
Frank crossed the room and stood close to Rhoda's chair. He looked down at her, and when he spoke there was a change in his manner. Now there was a finality in his tone that had ice in it.
"I don't know what this is all about, Rhoda, but I'm not as much of a child as you seem to think. Subjectiveness does make a person sound and act that way at times. This is a reflection of inner confusion and bewilderment. I'll admit I'm confused and bewildered. But I'm getting your message, too. I think you're telling me that whatever has happened to you is none of my business. Very well. You know where to find me if you need me."
He was walking toward the door, his back turned, so he did not see the mute appeal in Rhoda's face. "Frank—!"
He had opened the door and turned. "I'm sorry, Rhoda. I thought we had something. I'll admit I didn't handle it very well but I did my best."