“You—wouldn’t—dare!”

“I shall,” she insisted.

“You mustn’t go to the police,” he said in a low-pitched voice, and although she hardly understood why, she had a feeling that something had changed within him, too. “I shall be all right, I shan’t make a fool of myself. It—it won’t last for ever.”

“It’s lasted too long,” she said.

Suddenly he let her go and pushed her away.

Then clear out!” he shouted. “Clear out! You’re tired of me, you’re tired of a sick husband, of a physical wreck. You haven’t any patience left, you hate the sight of me. Clear out, I tell you! You’ve still got youth and beauty on your side, plenty of men——”

“Bob!”

“Plenty of men would find you worth bedding,” he went on almost hysterically. “Men who stayed at home, men who weren’t hurt, the men who gave you a good time while I——”

She slapped him across the face.

He backed away and his right hand rose slowly to his cheek, fingering the spot where she had hit him. There was something akin to wonder in his eyes; at least she had driven that devouring fear away, if only for a few minutes.

Suddenly he turned away.

“Oh, God!” he groaned. “I’m sorry. But it’s no use. I’m no good to you. I never will be. But it’s my trouble, not yours. You shouldn’t try to share it.” He limped across to his hat, stooped down and picked it up. “The advice was sound. You’d better leave me, Bar.”

“I shan’t leave you,” said Barbara quietly. “I’ve told you what I shall do.”

He shook his head, turning to face her.

“You mustn’t go to the police,” he said. “That tells you plenty, doesn’t it? I am afraid of the police as well as a lot of other things. But I’m not going to tell you why, nothing will drag it out of me. I’m not going to involve you.”