“Why, I confess I have sinned, George; and you mean me well, no doubt. But I’ll be damned if I’ll be lessoned, even by a cousin.” “Then learn from a less scrupulous quarter. There’ll be plenty to gather the fruit you let hang over the wall.” He was going, but the other stopped him; hurriedly. “What’s that? No, tarry awhile, George. Zounds, man, can’t you see my state?” He was so suddenly solicitous, so eager in his entreaty, that Hamilton paused in wonder, and turned to face him. “Why,” said he, “let me look at you. I believe--_anno mirabile!_--I do believe you’re jealous. Philip Stanhope jealous, and of his wife!” Chesterfield chuckled foolishly. “What are the symptoms?” “Yellow, sir, yellow--a very jaundice of the eye. Why, what hath happened between yesterday and to-day?” “Nothing, I tell you--or perhaps everything. Is she so much admired?” “Is Kate? Can you ask, who have eyes and senses?” “I think I’ve been at fault.” “Tell her so, then.” “Why, that’s the devil o’t. We’re not on speaking terms.” Hamilton sneered. “So, it’s come to a head with her? And who but a blind dullard would ever have failed to foresee that end? Yet, with one so gracious, it must have needed a foul provocation to drive her to such extremes. What, may I ask, was the deciding insult?” “I’ll be frank. I told her she was distasteful to me.” Hamilton threw up his hands. “Ye gods! And he can talk of speaking terms! Be thankful if she ever looks at you again.” His lordship winced. “Not? She hath sweet eyes, too. I own I spoke in temper, and said a silly thing.” “Silly! Have you never heard of a woman scorned? You’ve lost her before you’ve found her.” “No, no. I trust you, George: damn it, man, I trust you! I know you are my friend. Tell me--what shall I do?” “To reconcile you?” “Aye.” “Too sudden an exodus this! Turn tail, I advise, and get back to your flesh-pots.” “Carrion, she called it, and me a dog. The savour sticks somehow; I can’t go back to carrion. Let the King enjoy his own for me: I’m content with mine.” “_She_ your own? Any man’s, rather, after that.” “Don’t say so! George----” He put a twitching hand on Hamilton’s sleeve. He seemed quite transformed in these few minutes; smitten out of the blue, and, under that rankling wound, lusting for what he had despised. There are those who, tyrannous to love’s submission, fall slaves to love’s disdain. Here was one who, expelled from Paradise, found himself, as it were, naked and ashamed. “I’d concede something,” he said, “to be on terms with her again--not all her condition, curse it, but something substantial.” “What was her condition?” “She swore she’d never speak word to me again till I’d gone on my knees to her to ask her pardon.” “That was before you’d hurt her, physically. She’ll want more now.” “What more?” “Likely a separation.” “I’ll not grant it.” “She’ll take it her own way, never fear.” “What way?” “Why, the way of all provoked wives. You should know.”