He was about turning away, when she arrested the movement by saying,

“Go on, Hartley Emerson!  Speak of all that is in your mind.  You have now an opportunity that may never come again.”

There was a dead level in her voice that a little puzzled her husband.

“It is for you to speak,” he answered.  “I have put my interrogatories.”

Unhappily, there was a shade of imperiousness in his voice.

“I never answer insulting interrogatories; not even from the man who calls himself my husband,” replied Irene, haughtily.

“It may be best for you to answer,” said Hartley.  There was just the shadow of menace in his tones.

“Best!” The lip of Irene curled slightly.  “On whose account, pray?”

“Best for each of us.  Whatever affects one injuriously must affect both.”

“Humph!  So we are equals!” Irene tossed her head impatiently, and laughed a short, mocking laugh.

“Nothing of that, if you please!” was the husband’s impatient retort.  The sudden change in his wife’s manner threw him off his guard.

“Nothing of what?” demanded Irene.

“Of that weak, silly nonsense.  We have graver matters in hand for consideration now.”

“Ah?” She threw up her eyebrows, then contracted them again with an angry severity.

“Irene,” said Mr. Emerson, his voice falling into a calm but severe tone, “all this is but weakness and folly.  I have heard things touching your good name—­”

“And believe them,” broke in Irene, with angry impatience.

“I have said nothing as to belief or disbelief.  The fact is grave enough.”

“And you have illustrated your faith in the slander—­beautifully, becomingly, generously!”

“Irene!”

“Generously, as a man who knew his wife.  Ah, well!” This last ejaculation was made almost lightly, but it involved great bitterness of spirit.

“Do not speak any longer after this fashion,” said Hartley, with considerable irritation of manner; “it doesn’t suit my present temper.  I want something in a very different spirit.  The matter is of too serious import.  So pray lay aside your trifling.  I came to you as I had a right to come, and made inquiries touching your associations when not in my company.  Your answers are not satisfactory, but tend rather to con—­”

“Sir!” Irene interrupted him in a stern, deep voice, which came so suddenly that the word remained unspoken.  Then, raising her finger in a warning manner, she said with menace,

“Beware!”

For some moments they stood looking at each other, more like two animals at bay than husband and wife.

“Touching my associations when not in your company?” said Irene at length, repeating his language slowly.

“Yes,” answered the husband.

“Touching, my associations?  Well, Mr. Emerson—­so far, I say well.”  She was collected in manner and her voice steady.  “But what touching your associations when not in my company?”