“You have often made me feel that of late, dear Rose.”
This touched her. But she fought down the kindly feeling. “I am glad of it,” said she, out of perverseness. She added after a while, “Edouard, you are naturally jealous.”
“Not the least in the world, Rose, I assure you. I have many faults, but jealous I am not.”
“Oh, yes, you are, and suspicious, too; there is something in your character that alarms me for our happiness.”
“Well, if you come to that, there are things in YOUR conduct I could wish explained.”
“There! I said so. You have not confidence in me.”
“Pray don’t say that, dear Rose. I have every confidence in you; only please don’t ask me to divest myself of my senses and my reason.”
“I don’t ask you to do that or anything else for me; good-by, for the present.”
“Where are you going now? tic! tic! I never can get a word in peace with you.”
“I am not going to commit murder. I’m only going up-stairs to my sister.”