“You’re mistaken, Brad. I admire him for his courage, his resourcefulness, his loyalty and all that; but you are just as brave and just as loyal, and I—I like you—even better.”
He caught her hand again and gave it a squeeze.
“I don’t see how that can be,” he muttered huskily.
“It’s true. You don’t think I would deceive you, do you?”
“No, but——”
“But what?”
“I’m going to confess,” he said, almost defiantly. “I know I made a fool of myself after we joined you here in Damascus. I never felt that way before, and I hope I never shall again. It’s an awful mean feeling. I was jealous.”
“Jealous, Brad?”
“Yes, I was. First I was jealous because I thought you had taken too much interest in Hafsa Pasha. Then I was jealous of my pard, as I couldn’t see any reason why you should care more for him than for me. And through my fool actions I brought all this trouble on us. If I had not gone off by myself, kind of eating my heart out, and then ran away when you and Dick saw me and tried to overtake me, you would not have been lost in the streets, would not have enraged the Moslems by entering one of their temples, and would not have given Hafsa Pasha’s tools a chance to seize and imprison you. Oh, I was all to blame, and I know it. I’m a big——”
She placed a soft hand over his mouth.