She gave him a quick, startled look. His face was turned away, and so he did not see the tender, wistful little smile that flickered on her lips, nor was he aware of the long, deep breath she took. From that moment a queer, uneasy restraint fell upon them. There were long silences, dreamy on her part, moody on his. He left shortly after ten; his “good night” was strangely gruff and unnatural. He was jealous. He knew it for a fact, he confessed it to himself for the first time openly and unreservedly. He was jealous of young Lansing. There was no use trying to deny it. He did not go so far as to think of himself as being in love with Jane—that would be ridiculous, after all the years they had known each other—but he bitterly resented the thought that she might be in love with some one else. Especially with the superior, supercilious, cocksure Lansing! Why, if she were in love with Lansing—and married him!—good Lord, what a fool he had been to think it would make no difference to him! It would make a difference—an appalling difference. All nonsense to think she wouldn’t go out of his life if she married Lansing or any one else. Of course she would. He felt a cold, clammy moisture break out all over him; a sickening sensation assailed the pit of his stomach. She would have a home in which he could be nothing more than an old friend; he would have to submit to being governed by certain conventions and by an entirely new set of conditions; her husband would have a lot to say about all that; it would mean that he couldn’t drop in every night or so for an intimate chat, that he couldn’t go strolling freely and contentedly into familiar haunts with Jane, that he couldn’t take her off for rides in his car, or up to the city to see the plays. Lansing wouldn’t stand for that! Nor would any one else! It would be the end of everything, his life would have to be reordered, his very thoughts subjected to a drastic course of inhibitions, he would have to stand afar off and wait for some other man to beckon for him to approach! Unbearable! What was it that Sammy said—in jest, of course, but now heavy with portent? “This isn’t your night to call on Jane,” or something like that. It was Lansing’s night! The whole town knew it was Lansing’s night—and he was calling on Jane because Lansing happened to be off in the country seeing a patient.