He took her arm—her softly rounded arm—in his hand. She wrenched it away.
“Oh, come, Maria, dear,” he murmured rather weakly. “I'm sorry I kept you waiting.”
She confronted him now. There was passion in her big eyes. Her voice was not under control.
“Why don't you tell the truth?” she broke out. “You think you can do anything with me—play with me, hurt me.”
“Hush, Maria!” He caught her arm again. “Some one will hear you!”
“Why should I care? Do you think I don't know—”
“Child, I don't know what on earth you mean!”
“You do know! You play with me! You sent for your bags. Why didn't you come yourself?”
“Why, that—”
“When you saw me here you stopped—you went back—”