The Story Continued by Marian Halcombe

on the table, and glancing across at me, as I sat opposite to him, with such a sinister mixture of suspicion and embarrassment on his face that he looked more like a prisoner at the bar than a gentleman in his own house. “Sign there,” he repeated, turning suddenly on Laura, and pointing once more to the place on the parchment. “What is it I am to sign?” she asked quietly. “I have no time to explain,” he answered. “The dogcart is at the door, and I must go directly. Besides, if I had time, you wouldn’t understand. It is a purely formal document, full of legal technicalities, and all that sort of thing. Come! come! sign your name, and let us have done as soon as possible.” “I ought surely to know what I am signing, Sir Percival, before I write my name?” “Nonsense! What have women to do with business? I tell you again, you can’t understand it.” “At any rate, let me try to understand it. Whenever Mr. Gilmore had any business for me to do, he always explained it first, and I always understood him.” “I dare say he did. He was your servant, and was obliged to explain. I am your husband, and am not obliged. How much longer do you mean to keep me here? I tell you again, there is no time for reading anything⁠—the dogcart is waiting at the door. Once for all, will you sign or will you not?” She still had the pen in her hand, but she made no approach to signing her name with it.