"T' hell it ain't my business. I'm your husband--gotta right to know where you get diamonds"--he sneered--"diamonds like this! I never bought it." "No," she flamed back; "you're too stingy!" "Stingy, am I?" He faltered swaying. "Tha'snough. I'm tightwad, so s'nother guy gets chansh to buy you diamonds. Tha's way of it, hey?" "You give me that ring, Charlie," Joan demanded ominously. "You got anotha good guess coming. What I'll give you is jush two minutes to tell me name of the fellow't give it to you." "Don't be a fool, Charlie!" "I don't intend to be fool--any longer. You tell me or--" He checked, searching his befuddled mind for a compelling threat. With a shift of manner, Joan extended her hand in pleading. "Give me the ring, Charlie, and be sensible. I haven't done anything wrong. I can explain." "Well...." Grudgingly he dropped the ring into her palm. But immediately her fingers had closed upon it, mistrust again possessed him. "Now, you tell me--" "Very well," she interrupted patiently. "You needn't shout. I don't mind telling you now. It's my engagement ring." "Your _what_?" sharply. "My engagement ring. I was engaged last summer to Mr. Matthias, before we began to rehearse the sketch." "Engaged?" he iterated stupidly. "Engaged for what?" "Engaged to be married. He was in love with me. I meant to marry him until you and I met the second time--" "Meant to marry who?" "Mr. Matthias. We--" "Matthias? What Matthias?" "John Matthias, the author--the playwright. He wrote 'The Jade God.'" Quard wagged his head cunningly. "Y'mean to tell me you was engaged to that guy, and--didn't marry him?" "Certainly. I married you, didn't I, dear?" "And if that's true, how't happen you didn't give'm back his ring? _Eh?_" "I meant to, Charlie, but he was out of town and I didn't know his address." "That's likely!" The actor laughed harshly. "Tha'sh _good_ one, that is! You going to marry him, and didn't know his address. Expect me to believe that?" "It's true, Charlie--it's God's truth." "You're a liar!" "Charlie--!" "I say, you're a liar! Wha'sh more, I mean it." Quard waved his hand, palm down, to indicate his scornful disposition of her yarn. Then he staggered, steadied himself by clutching the back of a chair, and conscious how this betrayed his condition, worked himself into a towering rage to cover it. "I know better. 'F you'd ever got a chance to marry that feller, you'd 've jumped at it. He'd never've got away. You wouldn't 've given him no more chance'n you did me--you'd 've pulled wool over his eyes same way. _I_ know what'm talking about. You're a _liar_, a dam' dirty little liar, tha's what you are." Joan's colour deserted her face entirely. "Charlie! don't you say that to me again." "And what'll you do? Think I care? I know what you'll do, all right, because I'm going make you do it." "What do you mean?"