The young husband looked from one to the other, dazed by his wife's
insult, abandoned to a fit of ridiculously childish temper. Blind
as he was with passion, he remembered long afterwards seeing
them standing there, his brother's face darkened with a scowl
of anger--his wife, clad in the mockery of her ball dress, her
scarlet velvet cloak half covering her bare brown neck and arms,
her eyes like flames of fire, her face like a piece of sculptured
graystone.

Without a word he flung himself furiously from the room, and
immediately afterwards they heard the heavy hall door bang behind
him.

"Can I do anything for you, Christie?" asked her brother-in-law
calmly.

"No, thank you--unless--I think I would like a drink of water,
please."

He brought her up a goblet filled with wine; her hand did not even
tremble as she took it. As for Joe, a demon arose in his soul as he
noticed she kept her wrists covered.

"Do you think he will come back?" she said.

"Oh, yes, of course; he'll be all right in the morning. Now go to
bed like a good little girl, and--and, I say, Christie, you can call
me if you want anything; I'll be right here, you know."