"True," she commented. "Now I think I understand."
"No, you don't," he burst forth. "You have spent your life standing on a
golden pedestal, being kowtowed to, and you imagine yourself immune from
difficulties because you think you can pay your way out of anything. But
you will find that you cannot pay your way out of this--or rather you
cannot pay Rosalie's way out of it."
"I shall not try. Go on," said the girl. "What I do not understand, you
must explain to me. Don't leave anything unsaid."
"Good God, what a woman you are!" he cried out bitterly. He had never
seen such beauty in his life as he saw in her as she stood with her
straight young body flat against the tree. It was not a matter of deep
colour of eye, or high spirit of profile--but of something which burned
him. Still as she was, she looked like a flame. She made him feel old
and body-worn, and all the more senselessly furious.
"I believe you hate me," he raged. "And I may thank my wife for that."
Then he lost himself entirely. "Why cannot you behave well to me? If you
will behave well to me, Rosalie shall go her own way. If you even
looked at me as you look at other men--but you do not. There is always
something under your lashes which watches me as if I were a wild beast
you were studying.
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