"I thought you might know from experience," she observed equably.
"I have never loved any woman but you, Margaret!" he said tenderly. "You know that!"
Margaret made no response. The statement seemed to demand something of her which she could not give. He took her hand again, caressed it, and finally kissed her. She looked at him steadily, coldly.
"Please—sit over there!" As her husband continued to caress her, she sat upright. "I want to say something to you, Larry."
"What is it?"
"There can't be any more of that—you understand?—between us."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean—that, what you call love, passion, is over between us."
"Why? … what have I done?"
Margaret waved her hand impatiently:—