“You weren’t riding with Easton alone in the dark all that time––without––”
She waited for the question as for a bludgeon. Davidge had some trouble in wielding it. He hated the thought so much that the words were unspeakable, and he hunted for some paraphrase. In the sparse thesaurus of his vocabulary he found nothing subtle. He groaned:
“Without his––his making love to you?”
“I wish you wouldn’t ask me,” said Mamise.
“I don’t need to. You’ve answered,” Davidge snarled. “And so will he.”
Mamise’s heart was suddenly a live coal, throbbing with fire and keenly painful––yet very warm. She had a man who loved her well enough to hate for her and to avenge her. That was something gained.
Davidge brooded. It was inconceivably hideous that he 289 should have given his heart to this pretty thing at his side only to have her ensconce herself in the arms of another man and give him the liberty of her cheeks––Heaven knew, hell knew, what other liberties. He vowed that he would never put his lips where another man’s had been.
Mamise seemed to feel soiled and fit only for the waste-basket of life. She had delivered her “message to Garcia,” and Garcia rewarded her with disgust. She waited shame-fast for a moment before she could even falter:
“Did you happen to hear the news I brought you? Or doesn’t it interest you?”
Davidge answered with repugnance: