“Must you ask?” MacLean sat up and turned himself around so that his feet dangled off the bed. “She’s a female.” Kinman looked at MacLean, and his broad face slowly darkened. “That’s not it. I know you. You’ve upset her again.” “I was trying to make her very happy.” MacLean reflected sourly on the irrationality of all females, and his wife in particular. “She just doesn’t know what’s good for her.” Hurrying over, Kinman reached behind the night table, brought forth a cane and handed it to MacLean. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you, MacLean. You’ve got a beautiful wife who cares for you—as if you’re worth saving—and what do you do? You make her run like the hounds are after her.” With deliberate movements, MacLean put his feet on the floor and stood up. “We’ll come to an understanding soon.” He was determined on that. For the last three weeks, he’d been punishing her for telling him what she considered the truth. She’d allowed his sullenness, caring for him regardless of his resentment.
