"That I was to marry Théo and 'live happy ever after'? Oh, yes, I remember. But do you remember how miserable you were the day before—and the day of—the wedding? And why that was?"
He was silent for a moment.
"Yes," he answered humbly. "I know. I was—jealous."
"Well—and you expect me to be happy and content while you behave as you are doing now? You never speak to me; you never look at me; you fly from me as if I were an infectious disease. It is—unbearable," she ended passionately. "I can't bear it."
He smoked in silence for some seconds. "I am—sorry to have hurt you, Brigit."
"Sorry to have hurt me! I don't believe you love me. If you were jealous, so am I! I will not be treated like this."
His white face was like a mask. "I am sorry," he repeated, with a kind of dogged patience.
"Then if you are—be good to me. I love you, Victor."
He met her eyes and his did not falter in their steady gaze. "Please do not excite yourself," he said very gently, "and—I think I will go in now. It must be breakfast time."
Driven beyond her own control by his tone, she caught his arm and pleaded with him, her voice harsh and broken, and she could not stop, although she saw that she was, besides annoying him, injuring herself in his eyes.