“What you say goes,” he said. “And Florrie imagined it, but she didn’t imagine the part about your not going to the office, and if anything’s wrong there, don’t forget that I know Branstone pretty well. I can talk to him like a father.” “There’s nothing wrong, anywhere,” she said, and, indeed, things were not only not wrong but exuberantly right, only she could not tell him why. “You’re sure of that?” he persisted. “There’s nothing you can tell a pal? Nothing you can tell me, when you know I’d walk through fire for you? Damn it, I can’t pretend. I’m not a friend. I’m a man in love, and I ask you to be fair.” “Dubby,” she pleaded, “don’t make things too hard for me.” “Is it I who make them hard?” he asked, “oris it Sam?” She looked at him amazed, and certainly Effie was stupid then, or, at least, too wrapped up in her great preoccupation to be alert. “Oh, don’t be petty,” she said. “I didn’t debit you with jealousy.” “No? No? And yet I have a certain right to be jealous of him. I think you won’t deny it.” It wasn’t what he said or even the deep bitterness of his tone, it was something in his eyes, like a hurt animal’s, which made her quite suddenly, and as a thing apart from his words, see what had happened. But she did not see even now the whole of Dubby’s love and the beauty of his knightly move. “You know!” she said. “Dubby, you knew when you spoke just now. You knew that Sam and I----” “I told you I had a word with Florrie.” “Florrie?” she asked. “What could Florrie tell you?” “Nothing,” he said, “that she knew she told. Guessing is another of the things I’m good at.” She saw it then, to what perceptiveness his love had brought him, to what high action. It had sped her cloud and she saw, clear-eyed as he, his fine, impeccable fidelity. “Oh! And I called you petty! I told you you were jealous. Dubby, I didn’t know. You’d have done that for me!” “Well, you see,” he apologized, “I’m in love with you.” “Why can’t we order love? Why does it come all wrong?” she cried. “It hasn’t come so wrong but I can put it right for you,” he said, making his offer again. “I? I didn’t mean myself,” she said, wondering. “Love’s not come wrong to me. It’s you I’m thinking of.” “But is it right for you?” he asked. “Oh, yes,” she smiled. “Terrifically.” “Is it? When Sam has not been near you in weeks?” It was wedged in his mind that Sam was playing the villain. “When you are here alone, do you see him, Effie?” “No. That’s why it’s all so right.” He shook his head, perplexed. “It may be good metaphysics, but it sounds bad sense. I’ll be quite honest with you. I’m suffering pretty badly from suppressed desire to horsewhip Sam Branstone. I think he deserves it, I know I’d enjoy it and I think you’re trying to head me off it. I daresay it’s primitive of me, but it will do me good and I don’t mind telling you I need good doing to me. Effie, mayn’t I go and horsewhip Sam?”