Goddard laughed harshly; his voice was hoarse and cracked.
"Why did I do it!" he repeated.

"Did you ever hear of any one who would not escape from prison if he had the chance?
Don't look at me like that, Mary--" "I am sorry for you," she said.
"You don't seem very glad to see me," he answered roughly.

"I might have known it." "Yes, you might have known it." It seemed a very hard and cruel thing to say, and Mary Goddard was very far from being a cruel woman by nature; but she was stunned by fear and disgust and horrified by the possibilities of harm suddenly brought before her.
Goddard pushed his plate away and leaned his elbows upon the table supporting his chin in his hands.

He scowled at her defiantly.
"You have given me a warm reception, after nearly three years of--separation." There was a bitter sneer in the word.
"I am horrified to see you here," she said simply.

"You know very well that I cannot conceal you--" "Oh, I don't expect miracles," said Goddard contemptuously.