The effect of his vigil on the dancing side was disturbing to Hayward. As Helen passed from the arms of one man to another he began to grow nervous. His positive resentment was aroused when she was whirled past the window in the embrace of a sprig of nobility attached to the Italian embassy. Her shivering husband’s blood jumped. He had heard things about that chap!—oh, the profanation of his even touching the hand of Helen—thank Heaven the muse has stopped to catch its breath! Next it was Rutledge treading a measure with the débutante, and his anger burned again,—flaming no doubt it would have been had he known that the number was an extra devised by his wife in Rutledge’s special favour. Anything was better than the Italian though!—some comfort in that.... And now comes Hal Lodge piloting her through the swirl. Careful, old man, don’t hold her so close. She is quite able to carry a part of her own weight! There can be no doubt it takes some culture—of a sort—for a man to be able to look with entire complacency upon his wife in another’s arms, however fine a fellow or fast a friend that other is. There be those who have attained unto such culture: but Hayward had had few opportunities in that school—he was happily—in this case unhappily—ignorant of its refinements of learning. He knew, of course, as a matter of pure mentality, that it was a perfectly harmless pastime, but his heart would not subscribe to the knowledge. No, he thought, it was no use to try to deceive himself: he didn’t like it and he didn’t care to try to like it. She was his wife, and to have other men putting their arms about her even in the dance, when he himself did not have the privilege and would not have it until—oh, damn that commission! * * * * * The weeks following Helen’s coming-out gave nothing to allay the tumult rising in her husband’s heart. The duties of his service compelled him to look on many scenes from which he gladly would have turned his jealous eyes. By the grim humour of fate was it, too, that his friend Hal Lodge should cause him the keenest heart-burnings. Hayward wrote to Helen all about their friendship and intimate association at Harvard, and in letter after letter purposely related many incidents of Hal’s college loves and flirtations so that Helen might know him as he knew him. He was loyal to his friendship however, and gave also a faithful account of Hal’s excellences. There was no stint in his praise, nor any attempt to belittle Lodge in his wife’s esteem. In such glowing terms did he sing of his friend’s many virtues that he did not have the courage to unsay a word of it when friendship was turned to gall.