He knew what would happen then.

But Joanne--Joanne on the trail, as his wife---- He began pacing back and forth in his room, clouding himself in the smoke of his pipe.

Frequently Joanne's mind had filled him with an exquisite delight by its quickness and at times almost magic perceptiveness, and he realized that in these things, and the fineness of her woman's intuition, now lay his greatest menace.

He was sure that she understood the meaning of the assault upon her that night, though she had apparently believed what he and Blackton had told them--that it had been the attack of irresponsible and drunken hoodlums.

Yet he was certain that she had already guessed that Quade had been responsible.
He went to bed, dreading what questions and new developments the morning might bring forth.