"Ah, Julia!" cried he, and encircled her with his arms. She felt the straining eagerness of his grasp, she felt his heart beat stormily. With a sudden warmth she knew that after all his love was hers.
Then she had an inspiration, one worthy of a cleverer woman: but love has his own geniuses. She disengaged herself from his embrace and put the letter into his hand.
"Take it," said she.
"Julia," he cried, and shook from head to foot, and the tears sprang to his eyes, "I never gave her a serious thought. I vow I hate the woman."
"Then tear it up," said Lady Standish, with a superhuman magnanimity that almost turned her faint.
He rose and tore the letter in shreds (quickly, lest she should repent) and flung them out of the window. She watched the floating pieces flutter and vanish. In her secret soul she said to herself:
"Mistress Bellairs and I shall be very good friends at a distance!"
Her husband was kneeling at her feet again. "Angel," cried he pleadingly, and once more she was in his arms; and yet his jealous heart kept growling within him, like a surly dog that will not be silenced. "Julia," said he in her ear, "but one word, one word, my love! Julia, is there anyone, anything between us?"
"Oh, that," she said, and smiled archly, "that, sir, you must discover for yourself." Her head sank on his shoulder as she spoke.
"You torture me!" he murmured. But she knew that he had never kissed her with such passion in all his life before.