He had told her that if ever she
needed a friend--now indeed she wanted one.
"What did you do then if you only came in half an hour ago? It's just
one o'clock."
A thought rushed exultingly to her mind that he was jealous--jealous
of Devenish. He had not seen her at all. This was jealousy. Her heart
cried out in thankfulness. She crossed the room to him, all the whole
wealth of her love alive and bright in her eyes.
"Jack"--she whispered--"you're not jealous of Devenish, are you?"
A laugh broke out from his lips, striking her with the sting of its
harshness.
"Where did you go afterwards?" he repeated.
"To supper--we went to supper--the same place where we had dined.
Why wouldn't you tell me if you were jealous? Do you think I should
mind?"
"Jealous?" He took her arm and led her nearer to the light of the
solitary candle. There he faced her, looking down into the weary
pupils of her eyes. "All these things you've been saying," he said
brutally--"are lies--the whole--blessed--pack of them. You never
went to the Palace Theatre, you went to the Duke of York's. You sat
in the third row of the pit and covered your face with a programme
whenever you thought we were looking in your direction.
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