"You little iceberg! How dare you give me such a cold reception! I've been looking forward to seeing you and you calmly go out as if I didn't exist . . . Why, what's the matter, Marie Celeste?"
He seemed suddenly aware of the strange expression of her eyes. His hands relaxed their grip, and she twisted herself free.
She had felt his kisses to be an outrage. She knew that he did not love her, and that this sudden burst of passion was worth nothing at all. There was something akin to hatred in her eyes as she raised them to his abashed face.
"Please never dare to do that again," she said in a voice that was all the more intense for its quietness. "I have never bothered you, or asked anything of you—you have gone where you liked and stayed away as long as you pleased—you always can—but in exchange I expect you to allow me the same freedom."
Chris flushed scarlet, but more with surprise than any other emotion. That she should dare so to speak to him was the biggest shock of his life.
For a moment he could find no words, then he broke out savagely: "Someone has been talking! Someone has been setting you against me. I felt that you had changed directly I came into the room. Who is it? Tell me who it is?"
She smiled contemptuously.
"I have hardly seen anyone, except Aunt Madge's friends and your own, and if you think they have any reason to speak against you it is no fault of mine."
He broke in passionately: "It's that young devil, Atkins. I knew he was keen on you; I—Marie——" He caught her by the arm, swinging her 185 round to him as she would have turned away, his eyes searching her face with bitter suspicion. "I suppose you've forgotten that you are my wife?" he demanded.
She looked up.