With a shock of dismay so abrupt and overwhelming that it was likea physical injury, George became aware that something was wrong.

　　Even as he gripped her, Maud had stiffened with a sharp cry; andnow she was struggling, trying to wrench herself free. She brokeaway from him. He could hear her breathing hard.

　　"You--you----" She gulped.

　　"Maud!""How dare you!"There was a pause that seemed to George to stretch on and onendlessly. The rain pattered on the leaky roof. Somewhere in thedistance a dog howled dismally. The darkness pressed down like ablanket, stifling thought.

　　"Good night, Mr. Bevan." Her voice was ice. "I didn't think youwere--that kind of man."She was moving toward the door; and, as she reached it, George'sstupor left him. He came back to life with a jerk, shaking fromhead to foot. All his varied emotions had become one emotion--acold fury.

　　"Stop!"Maud stopped. Her chin was tilted, and she was wasting a balefulglare on the darkness.

　　"Well, what is it?"Her tone increased George's wrath. The injustice of it made himdizzy. At that moment he hated her. He was the injured party. Itwas he, not she, that had been deceived and made a fool of.

　　"I want to say something before you go.""I think we had better say no more about it!"By the exercise of supreme self-control George kept himself fromspeaking until he could choose milder words than those that rushedto his lips.

　　"I think we will!" he said between his teeth.

　　Maud's anger became tinged with surprise. Now that the first shockof the wretched episode was over, the calmer half of her mind wasendeavouring to soothe the infuriated half by urging that George'sbehaviour had been but a momentary lapse, and that a man may losehis head for one wild instant, and yet remain fundamentally agentleman and a friend. She had begun to remind herself that thisman had helped her once in trouble, and only a day or two beforehad actually risked his life to save her from embarrassment. Whenshe heard him call to her to stop, she supposed that his betterfeelings had reasserted themselves; and she had prepared herself toreceive with dignity a broken, stammered apology. But the voicethat had just spoken with a crisp, biting intensity was not thevoice of remorse. It was a very angry man, not a penitent one, whowas commanding--not begging--her to stop and listen to him.

　　"Well?" she said again, more coldly this time. She was quite unableto understand this attitude of his. She was the injured party. Itwas she, not he who had trusted and been betrayed.

　　"I should like to explain.""Please do not apologize."George ground his teeth in the gloom.

　　"I haven't the slightest intention of apologizing. I said I wouldlike to explain. When I have finished explaining, you can go.""I shall go when I please," flared Maud.