his tone was dull, bewildered, and heavy as, holding the box still in his curved arm, he asked slowly:
“Did she give it to you to give to me?”
“She gave it to me to give to your wife.” He looked up with a start. “But your wife would not take it of her. And when I returned from my errand she was gone—where I know not. So I decided to send it back to you.”
He did not follow, or took very little interest in my brief history. He did not even reiterate his belief that I knew Marie’s whereabouts. His mind was fixed on another point.
“How did you know she had it?” he asked.
“I found her with it on the table before her”
“You found her?”
“Yes; I went into her sitting room and found her as I say; and she was sobbing; and I got from her the story of it.”
“She told you that?”
“Yes; and she feared to send it back, lest you should come and overbear her resistance. I supposed you had frightened her. But neither would she keep it”
“You bade her not,” he put in, in a quick low tone.
“If you like, I prayed her not. Did it need much cleverness to see what was meant by keeping it?”
His mouth twitched. I saw the tempest rising again in him. But for a little longer he held it down.
“Do you take me for a fool?” he asked.
