Silence, the silence of double doors and of padded walls was upon the private room of the down-town office. Across the littered, ink-stained desk a man and a woman faced each other. Threads of gray lightened the hair of each. Faint lines, delicate as pencillings, marked the forehead of the woman and radiated from the angles of her eyes. A deep fissure unequally separated the brows of the man, and on his shaven face another furrow added firmness to the mouth. Their eyes met squarely, without a motion from faces imperturbable in middle age and knowledge of life.
The man broke silence slowly.
“You mean,” he hesitated, “what that would seem to mean?” 110
“Why not?” A shade of resentment was in the answering voice.
“But you’re a woman––”
“Well––”
“And married––”
The note of resentment became positive. “What difference does that make?”
“It ought to.” The man spoke almost mechanically. “You took oath before man and higher than man––”
The woman interrupted him shortly.