Jealousy is of course the inevitable accompaniment of love; and while
it is active everything else is pushed aside, postponed, or forgotten.
And she smiled again, as she thought what queer creatures men are, how
extravagantly different from women. She had never understood them,
and possibly never would do so. For instance, how strange that old
Will should not for a moment have been softened by a recognition of
her success in extricating him from his difficulty! One might have
expected that gratitude would almost counterbalance anger. But, no,
not for a fraction of a second could he think that, although what she
had done might be wrong, it had been done with the most unselfish
intention and had proved very efficacious.
Then, not in the least expecting that she was about to cry, she burst
into tears.
She had remembered his voice and his look when he said something about
honor and dishonor, and about working for her till he dropped. Noble
and splendid love had spoken in that--such love as few women are lucky
enough to get. Oh, surely if he loved her like that, he could not
leave off loving her altogether, and never, never, want his Mav again.
Sadness and desolation overcame her. She was alone in their dear, dear
home, disgraced, abandoned, heart-broken; and her thoughts for a
little while were all prayers.
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