“Will!  Loosen your hands.  It does stop—­it did stop there this morning.”

“Yes, it did stop—­and so it does all mornings.  But a fat lot you know about it.  And for why?  You weren’t in it.”

“I was—­I really was.  Will—­don’t go on so cruel.”

“Oh, but I am going on.”  He had lowered his face close to hers, and his hot breath beat upon her cold cheeks.  “Now, give me the explanation of what you let slip about going through so much these last two days.  What was the precise sense o’ that?”

“I only meant I’ve been so anxious.”

“Yes, but yer bin anxious best part o’ four weeks.  What was the mighty difference in yesterday or day before?”

“I didn’t mean any difference.  I scarce knew what I was saying—­or what I’m saying now.”

“Oh!  Just a remark let fall without a scrap o’ sense in it!”

Staring up at him, it was as if she saw the face of a stranger.  His eyes were half closed and glittering fiercely; his lips protruded as if grotesquely pouting to express scorn, and on each side of the distended nostrils a deep vertical wrinkle showed like the blackened gash of a knife wound.

“Will, dear, I meant nothing at all.”

“You’re lying.”

Abruptly he took his hands from her shoulders, got off the bed, and went to the chest of drawers.  Her handbag was on the drawers; and when she saw him pick it up she sprang after him, clutching at his hands and imploring.

“You’ll find nothing there.  Nothing that I can’t explain;” and she made a desperate gurgling laugh.  “Why, Will, old man, it is you that’s drunk, yourself, after chaffing me?  No, you shan’t.  No, Will, you shan’t.”

He gave her a back-hander that sent her reeling.  It was the first time he had struck her, and he delivered the blow quite automatically, the thought that she was preventing him from opening the bag and the action that got rid of her interference being all one process.  His hand had remained open, but he swung it with unhesitating force; and now, as he plunged it into the bag, he saw that there was blood on it.

Before he had extracted all the contents of the bag she was back again, once more clinging, clutching, and impeding.  He did not strike her again—­merely shook her off so violently that she fell to the floor, where she lay for a moment.

In the inner pockets of the bag there were three five-pound notes, together with a tooth-brush and several small articles wrapped up in paper.  These he laid on one side, while he carefully examined all the odds and ends that had been packed loose in the bag.  Three or four pocket-handkerchiefs, a new piece of scented soap, a pair of nail-scissors—­as he looked at each innocent article, he gave a snort.

She had come back, but she had not risen from the ground; while he slowly pursued his investigations she kept quite still, crouching close to his legs, silently waiting.