"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.
"You know what I mean," she said tremulously. "You know quite well
what I mean. You were angry yesterday--angry because Hans
Schafen--a servant--had told you something that made you distrust
me. And because you were angry, you--you--you insulted me!" She
turned round upon him suddenly with eyes of burning accusation.
She was fighting, fighting, with all her might, to hide from him
that frightened, quivering thing that she herself had recognized