“The fact that she hears is more than enough to upset me,” said Rosie. “I am like that, you see. I know it is silly, but I can’t help it. I wanted to tell you that I have just had a dreadful scene with Pauline.”
“A dreadful scene! You’ve not quarrelled?” he demanded anxiously.
“Oh, no! But I’ve lied to her—I’ve lied to her in the most shocking way, and, what is worse, I fancy she didn’t quite believe me.”
“She suspects something?”
His tone sounded apprehensive in the gloom.
“I don’t know; I hope not. In any case, what can she suspect? She’s been in bed all the time.”
“True,” said Mr. Jetsam reflectively. “True! You have behaved magnificently, Miss Rosie. Never, never, in this world, shall I be able to thank you. I had not thought that such a woman as you existed. You have given me the first sympathy I have ever had. Yes, the first!—without you I could never have succeeded. I could scarcely have begun. And now I shall succeed. Listen to me—I shall succeed! A wrong will be righted. Justice will be done. If it isn’t, I shall kill myself.”
He finished grimly, as it were, ferociously.
“Don’t say that,” pleaded Rosie.
He laughed. Then he lifted the little lantern and threw its ray on her face. She did not flinch. “You are very pale,” he remarked softly.