"I have given you my word. I have never lied to you."
She looked up at him out of narrowing eyes:
"You might this time. I prefer your signature."
He reddened and sat twirling the silver crook of his walking-stick between restless hands.
"Very well," he said quietly; "I will sign what you wish, with the understanding that Miss Greensleeve is to remain immune from any lying accusation.... And I'll tell you now that any accusation questioning her chastity is a falsehood."
His wife smiled: "You see," she said, "your signature will be necessary."
"Do you think I am lying?"
"What do I care whether you are or not? Do you suppose the alleged chastity of a common fortune-teller interests me? All I know is that you have found your level, and that I need protection. If you choose to concede it to me without a public scandal, I shall permit you to do so. If not, I shall begin an action against you and name the woman with whom you spent last night!"
There was, in the thin, flute-like, and mincingly fastidious voice something so subtly vicious that her words left him silent.
Still leisurely arranging and re-arranging her little heap of pasteboard, her near-set eyes intent on its symmetry, she spoke again: