"I will believe in him, Ronald," I said, "when I have seen the fruit of those good intentions."
He started up from the sofa, and began to pace angrily up and down the little room.
Then I was sorry that I had spoken in a bitter tone. Only a few minutes ago I had firmly resolved to make the very best of my life, and avoid the slightest approach to a quarrel. And yet, here we were, on the very verge of warfare again!
There was an uncomfortable pause. I poured out tea, and gently pushed a cup towards him; but he took no notice of the action. Stopping in his walk, he stood leaning against the mantelpiece, his hands in his pockets, and his eyes looking out into space. At that moment I saw his resemblance to the portrait of Inez, as I had never seen it before.
"Ronald,—" I began, timidly.
"Don't pursue the subject, Louie," he said, in a cold tone. "I shall never ask you to believe in my friend's intentions again, nor will I trouble you with any of my plans for the future."
The words fell on my heart like drops of icy rain.
I tried to think of something conciliatory to say, but nothing came to my lips, and I sat gazing helplessly at my husband's gloomy face. After a moment's silence, he took up his hat and moved towards the door.
"Ronald," I cried, rising suddenly, "don't stay out as you did last night."
"No," he answered, with formal politeness, "you need not be concerned. I shall come back at seven to dine."