"Be-because I'm already married! There! Jimmy! I've been trying to get that out for a month."
Dreux gasped. "Myra Nell! You're crazy!"
She nodded, then turned to Blake with a look of entreaty, "P-please don't kill yourself, dear? I couldn't help it."
"Why, you poor frightened little thing! I'm delighted! I am indeed," he told her, reassuringly.
"Don't you care? Aren't you going to storm and—and raise the dickens?" she queried. "Maybe this is your way of hiding your despair?"
"Not at all. I'm glad—so long as you're happy."
"And you're not mad with anguish nor crushed with—Why, the idea! I'm perfectly furious! I ran away because I was afraid of you, and I haven't seen my husband once, not once, do you understand, since we were married. Oh, you—brute!"
By this time Dreux had recovered his power of speech, and yelled in furious voice:
"Who is the reptile?"
There came a timid rap, the office door opened, and Lecompte Rilleau inserted his head, saying gently: