and you--as worse; I _can't_ understand why your father didn't tell
me before we were married; I at least might have warned you never to
mention it." Something of recklessness rang up through his voice,
just as the panther-likeness crept up from her footsteps and couched
herself in hers. She spoke in tones quiet, soft, deadly.

"Before we were married! Oh! Charlie, would it have--made--any--
difference?"

"God knows," he said, throwing himself into a chair, his blonde hair
rumpled and wet. It was the only boyish thing about him now.

She walked towards him, then halted in the centre of the room.
"Charlie McDonald," she said, and it was as if a stone had spoken,
"look up." He raised his head, startled by her tone. There was a
threat in her eyes that, had his rage been less courageous, his
pride less bitterly wounded, would have cowed him.

"There was no such time as that before our marriage, for we _are not
married now_. Stop," she said, outstretching her palms against him
as he sprang to his feet, "I tell you we are not married. Why should
I recognize the rites of your nation when you do not acknowledge the
rites of mine? According to your own words, my parents should have
gone through your church ceremony as well as through an Indian
contract; according to _my_ words, _we_ should go through an Indian
contract as well as through a church marriage. If their union is
illegal, so is ours. If you think my father is living in dishonor
with my mother, my people will think I am living in dishonor with
you. How do I know when another nation will come and conquer you as
you white men conquered us? And they will have another marriage rite