“You don’t know me yet! I am jealous by temperament; jealous, of course, especially of you; of every word you speak to another, of every look, of every gesture! I can’t help it; I am built that way, I suppose.” She raised her large, resentful eyes to him so suddenly that he let go his delicate hold and remained gazing at her in helpless wonderment. Did she mean what she said? It was difficult to doubt that she was in earnest, but so ridiculous was the charge she made that his face grew grim. “If this is the truth,” he said, slowly, “I am extremely sorry for it. Jealousy not only denotes an entire lack of confidence and trust in oneself and another, but an inordinate amount of vanity.” “I dare say,” she interrupted, sulkily, backing away from him. “But you cannot change me. I am as I am.” “Look here, Laurence,” he said, gravely. “Assured of my love as you are, you cannot be really jealous. Surely I have given you no reason, be it ever so slight, for feelings that are so unworthy of you?” Her brows met in one straight line above a pair of eyes in which there appeared for a second a sparkle of hatred. “Well, then, if you love and adore me as you say you do, you might show me more consideration. To begin with, I will not tolerate your attentions to stupid _ingénues_, nor hear you praise ‘greatest ladies’--as you call them--to my face. I know you have made a sacrifice in marrying me, since I brought you nothing but myself; but as you have done so, I suppose you’ll have to abide by your bargain, such as it is.” Leaning against a table, both hands grasping its edge behind her, she was absolutely glaring at him, courting a quarrel with all her might, and a dreary sensation of pain and bewilderment overcame him. “So!” he said at length, in a voice that shook a little. “You are offended because to-night I spoke to a little girl of my family--a child I have known since she was born--and ventured to praise a woman worthy of all reverence and old enough to be your great-grandmother! Well, this being the case, my dear Laurence, I can only ask you what you wish me to do in the future to please you. Remember that I love you with all my heart and soul, and that I am an honest man determined to make you happy at all costs. Now speak, please.” She, however, did not do so. As a matter of fact, she had by now worked herself into such a fury that she no longer quite knew what she was doing. She vaguely felt that she was acting like a fool. Yet she could not master an intense desire to hurt him, if she could only do so. “Please, Laurence,” he reiterated, looking miserably across at her, “do not mar our happiness by so uncalled-for a scene! If you but knew how you hurt me--what you are to me--you would not act like this!” But she kept silent still, and, enervated beyond measure, he reached her in one stride, snatched her up in his arms, and crushed her passionately to him. There was a moisture in his eyes that he did not care to let her see.