"Oh, we needn't, needn't we? And there never was anything wrong, I suppose? I'm such a bad wife, am I? Other men have bad wives too." "Do you attach any particular meaning to that?" he asked coldly, but rather uneasily. "Do I attach----? Oh, what an idiot you are! You to come and lecture me as if I was a child! I may be anything you like, but I've never been what your wife was, John Fanshaw." He turned on her quickly. "What do you mean by that?" "That's my affair." "No, it isn't. You've dared to hint----" "Oh, I hint nothing I don't know!" "You shall give me an explanation of those words. I insist upon that." "You'd better not," she laughed maliciously. John was moved beyond self-control. He caught her by the wrist. She rose and stood facing him, her breath coming quick. She was in a fury that robbed her of all judgment and all mercy; but she had no fear of him. "You shall withdraw those words or explain them!" "Ask Christine to explain them!" she sneered. "What a fool you are! Here's a man to give lectures on the management of wives, when his own wife----" She broke off, laughing again. "You shall tell me what you mean!" "Dear me, you can't guess? You've turned very dull, John. Never mind! Don't make too much of it! Perhaps you were quick-tempered? Perhaps you didn't make her home pleasant? And if a woman's home isn't pleasant--well, you know what's likely to happen, don't you?" Perspiration was on John Fanshaw's brow. He pressed her wrist hard. "You she-devil!" he said. "Tell me what you mean, I say!" "Oh, ask Christine! And if she won't tell you, I advise you to apply to Frank Caylesham, John." "Is that true?" "Yes, it is. Don't break my wrist." "Caylesham!" He held her wrist a moment longer, then dropped it, and looked aimlessly round the room. She rubbed her wrist and glared at him with sullen eyes, her fury dying down into a malicious rancour. "There, that's what you get from your meddling and your preaching!" she said. "I never meant to give Christine away, I never wanted to. It's your doing; you made me angry, and I hit out at you where I could. I wish to God you had never come here, John! Christine's one of the few women who are friendly to me, and now I've---- But you've yourself to thank for it." He sank slowly into a chair; she heard him mutter "Caylesham!" again. "If you know I've a quick temper, why do you exasperate me? You exasperate me, and then I do a thing like that! Oh, I'm not thinking of you; I'm thinking of poor Christine. I hate myself now, and that's your doing too!" She flung herself into her chair and began to sob tempestuously. John stared past her to the wall. "It's just what Tom's always done," she moaned through her sobs--"making me lose my temper, and say something, and then----" Her words became inarticulate. Presently her sobs ceased; her face grew hard and set again.