"Jealousy," she
admitted.
He laughed lightly. It just caught the edge of his vanity to which
she played. Then, bending down, he kissed her, and as Sally entered
the room, she saw the kiss--to her, a kiss of Judas. In that instant,
the intuition that it was she who was betrayed, shot upwards like
a flame of fire, rushing the blood in a burning race to her temples.
CHAPTER IV
You may jeer at the instinct of a woman, plant the straight line of
logic beside it and ridicule the comparison as you choose, but it
is a sense, a subliminal sense, number it as you like, upon which
she can rely as surely as on touch or scent or sight.
"One of those impulsive conjectures of yours," Traill had said to
his sister in reply to her intuition of his relations with Sally.
"You don't quite know what you're speaking about, and that gives you
confidence. You're a woman." In the face of her accuracy he had said
that. It is only retaliation a man has when a woman betrays the
amazing abnormality of that sense which he can never hope to possess.
He resorts to one weapon, the scientific reliability of evidence.
"Where's your evidence?" he asks, and having none, he smiles at her.
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