"Do you know why I am here?" I demanded, impressively, folding my arms in solemn satisfaction at the situation.
To my amazement she tossed her chin with a hateful laugh, and shrugged her shoulders without looking at me.
"Do you realize why I am here?" I repeated, in displeasure.
She half turned towards me with maddening indifference in voice and movement.
"Why you are here? Yes, I know why."
"Why, then?" I snapped.
"Because you believed that Marie Hamilton was here," she said, and laughed that odd, unpleasant laugh again. "But you come too late, Micky," she added, spitefully; "your bonnie Marie Hamilton is a widow, now, and already back in Albany to mourn poor Captain Hamilton."
My ears had been growing hot.
"Do you believe—" I began.
But she turned her back, saying, "Oh, Micky, don't lie."