What was he about to do! Was there not something queer, something not exactly right, in his telling Miriam about the other woman? After all, that was the one thing in his life that he had never told her. She was welcome to the rest, but that—she mustn't know that; and he ended by pleading:—
"Surely, Miriam, you're not going to refuse me—come...."
"I am sorry, Lawrence, but I must." There was a sob in the refusal as she turned away.
And still like a spoiled child the husband would not abandon his plea. Besides, he had detected the sob. Once more his attitude underwent a change: he moved toward her, holding out his arms as though to gather her into them. It was a charm that always worked with Miriam; it would now, he told himself.
But Challoner was doomed to disappointment. It was the last touch needed to complete her humiliation; and waving him back, she cried:—
"Laurie, Laurie, anything but that!" There was a flood of tears behind her look of pain.
"But I must ... Cradlebaugh...." he came to a helpless pause.
Mrs. Challoner slowly repeated the name:—
"Cradlebaugh! I wish you had never seen that man—that class of men! Your money—my money very likely has been going to them! Well, if you want money you will have to...." The tension snapped and she drew her hand across her eyes, then broke down completely.
"A sign of weakening," Challoner said to himself, and promptly started toward her.