"As your attack upon him was without justice," Helen interrupted.
"I said he was a contemptible cad, and I stand ready to prove it. You may be the judge of it. He was my friend at college, and our relations were of such intimacy as I have told you about, and yet, knowing me full well, he refused to know me in Washington, or to shake hands with me, or to speak to me, even."
"Perhaps he did not remember you. Remember it has been five or six—"
"I'm telling you he did know me. He admitted it—in order that his affront might be unequivocal. I tell you he's a cad, a damnable cad, and I want you to cut him off your list. Promise me that you will have nothing more to do with him."
The man in his half-demand, half-plea, put out his arm toward her to reinforce his appeal with a caress, but his wife drew away from him and warded off his hand as she spoke to him.
"No," she cried, "I cannot believe it. There must be some explanation—I cannot do it—I'm to be one of his automobile party next Thursday.... Don't—don't!"
"What! May I not kiss you?"
"No, no. Not—not now."
"But you are my wife—I have the right to kiss you."
"You have no right," said Helen.