''
She felt that he was contrasting her with some one else--with a
certain some one. And she veiled her eyes to hide their blazing
jealousy. A movement on his part made her raise them in sudden
alarm. He had risen. His expression told her that the battle
was lost--for the day. Never had she loved him as at that
moment, and never had longing to possess him so dominated her
willful, self-indulgent, spoiled nature. Yet she hated him, too;
she longed to crush him, to make him suffer--to repay him with
interest for the suffering he was inflicting upon her--the
humiliation. But she dared not show her feelings. It would be
idle to try upon this man any of the coquetries indicated for
such cases--to dismiss him coldly, or to make an appeal through
an exhibition of weakness or reckless passion.
``You will see the truth, for yourself, as you think things
over,'' said he.
She rose, stood before him with downcast eyes, with mouth sad and
sweet. ``No,'' she said, ``It's you who are hiding the truth
from yourself. I hope--for both our sakes--that you'll see it
before long. Good-by-- dear.'' She stretched out her hand.
Hesitatingly he took it. As their hands met, her pulse beating
against his, she lifted her eyes. And once more he was holding
her close, was kissing her. And she was lying in his arms
unresisting, with two large tears shining in the long lashes of
her closed eyes.
``Oh, Jane--forgive me!'' he cried, releasing her.
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