He was seldom out of temper, and seldom made himself disagreeable to
me. In conversation, in all our life together, he generally yielded
to me with an almost womanly compliance. His present tone and manner
were absolutely new to me. I did not understand them, and I liked
him well enough to take the trouble to get up after a second and
follow him to the window.
"Howard," I said gently, "what is the matter? I am sorry if I have
annoyed you."
He turned upon me suddenly from the window.
"Did I ever say I wanted the money you might get from your cursed
book?" he said, passionately. "Do you suppose I couldn't get as much
for something of my own if I chose?"
Now, considering Howard was always in want of money, and perpetually
lamenting his inability, real or imagined, to get it, the last
remark seemed rather odd, and the vehemence with which he spoke
against me was altogether incomprehensible.
"Of course," I answered quietly, looking down into his excited face.
"I merely offered the money as a convenience, pro tem, as it
happened to be at hand, that's all. But surely it doesn't matter.
Perhaps I should not have done. I apologise. Doesn't that make it
square?"
I thought he was out of health, irritable, disappointed that he had
not made more of his own work, and jealous of my success, and I was
willing to say anything to soften his feelings.
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