"
But while I talked to Stroeve I was puzzling over the
suddenness of the whole affair. I could not imagine that he
had had no warning. I remembered the curious look I had seen
in Blanche Stroeve's eyes; perhaps its explanation was that
she was growing dimly conscious of a feeling in her heart that
surprised and alarmed her.
"Did you have no suspicion before to-day that there was
anything between them?" I asked.
He did not answer for a while. There was a pencil on the table,
and unconsciously he drew a head on the blotting-paper.
"Please say so, if you hate my asking you questions," I said.
"It eases me to talk. Oh, if you knew the frightful anguish
in my heart." He threw the pencil down. "Yes, I've known it
for a fortnight. I knew it before she did."
"Why on earth didn't you send Strickland packing?"
"I couldn't believe it. It seemed so improbable.
She couldn't bear the sight of him. It was more than improbable;
it was incredible. I thought it was merely jealousy.
You see, I've always been jealous, but I trained myself never
to show it; I was jealous of every man she knew; I was
jealous of you.
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