Craig's speech sounded like a deliberate insult, deliberate
attempt to precipitate a quarrel, an estrangement. There had been
nothing in her training to prepare her for such a rude, courage-
testing event as that.
"Do you remember--it was the day we married--the talk we had
about my relatives?"
She colored, was painfully embarrassed, strove in vain to conceal
it. "About your relatives?" she said inquiringly.
He made an impatient gesture. "I know you remember. Well, if I had
been a gentleman, or had known what gentleman meant, I'd never
have said--or, rather, looked what I did then. If you had known
what a gentleman is, if you had been a lady, you'd have been
unable to go on with a man who had shown himself such a
blackguard."
"You are unjust to us both," she eagerly interrupted. "Joshua--
you--"
"Don't try to excuse me--or yourself," said he peremptorily. "Now,
you thought what I showed that day--my being ashamed of honester,
straighter--more American--people than you or I will ever be--
you thought that was the real me. Thank God, it wasn't. But"--he
pointed a fascinating forefinger at her--"it was the me I'd be if
you had your way.
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