Mrs. Westerfield released her guest's bull-neck at the word of
command. It was impossible not to submit to him--he was so
brutal. Impossible not to admire him--he was so big.

"Have you no love left for me?" was all she ventured to say.

He took the reproof good-humoredly. "Love?" he repeated. "Come! I
like that--after throwing me over for a man with a handle to his
name. Which am I to call you: 'Mrs?' or 'My Lady'?"

"Call me your own. What is there to laugh at, Jemmy? You used to
be fond of me; you would never have gone to America, when I
married Westerfield, if I hadn't been dear to you. Oh, if I'm
sure of anything, I'm sure of that! You wouldn't bear malice,
dear, if you only knew how cruelly I have been disappointed."

He suddenly showed an interest in what she was saying: the brute
became cheery and confidential. "So he made you a bad husband,
did he? Up with his fist and knocked you down, I daresay, if the
truth was known?"

"You're all in the wrong, dear. He would have been a good husband
if I had cared about him. I never cared about anybody but you. It
wasn't Westerfield who tempted me to say Yes."

"That's a lie."

"No, indeed it isn't."