He made a stupendous effort to put a caressing tone into his voice. The justice of her outcry had, however, hit him pretty shrewdly; and feeling ashamed of himself he began to lose his temper.

“It’s hard, I know,” he said, “Gerda honey, to make you understand. I felt on my mettle to get the thing done. And I wanted to do it. And in the way I’ve done it, it isn’t such an awful thing.”

“I don’t care what it is!” she cried. “It’s not the book I’m thinking about. It’s the money. Oh, I do so want to get those plates and that clock! Do be reasonable, Wolf darling!”

She must have made as great an effort as he had done, to take this gentle tone, and he recognized fully the pathetic justice of her appeal; but something obscurely and dangerously obstinate in his nature seemed to rise up against her, something that he could actually feel, like a physical pressure, at the back of his windpipe.