She stood before him with
clenched hands. If he had attempted to kiss her then, she would
have struck him.
But he did not move. He stood, looking at her, looking at her,
till at last her wide eyes wavered and sank before his own. He
spoke then, an odd inflection in his voice.
"Why are you so angry?"
Her two fists were pressed hard against her sides. She was aware
of a weakening of her self-control, and she fought with all her
strength to retain it. She could not speak for a second or two,
but it was not fear that restrained her.
"Tell me!" he said. "Why are you angry?"
The colour was dying slowly out of her face; a curious chill had
followed the sudden flame. "It is your own fault," she said.
"How--my fault?" Burke's voice was wholly free from any sort of
emotion; but his question held insistence notwithstanding.
She answered it almost in spite of herself. "For making me hate
you."
He made a slight movement as of one who shifts his hold upon some
chafing creature to strengthen his grip. "How have I done that?"
he said.
She answered him in a quick, breathless rush of words that betrayed
her failing strength completely. "By doubting me--by being jealous
and showing it--by--by--by insulting me!"
"What?" he said.
She turned from him sharply and walked away, battling with herself.
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