"Last night," she repeated; "the night that should have been yours. The night I had promised to you for years." Then, in a flame of self-derision, "Why don't you let go my hands and hate me, now that you know how treacherous I am?"
"You're not treacherous." He smoothed the slim fingers as though he were coaxing a child. "You mustn't be unjust to yourself. When we're in love we're all apt to be unjust; I was yesterday, to this man. Injustice, whether to oneself or to some one else, works most of our mischief; one never knows
where it ends. We can't control our hearts, Terry; you've tried. You've tried to make your heart love me and it's refused. Don't be miserable because of it; you couldn't help that. And this man—he's a fine fellow. I always knew he was a fine fellow, until seeing him with you yesterday made me jealous and blinded my eyes. He's a finer fellow than ever now. You couldn't love him if he weren't."
She wasn't giving him the enthusiastic attention that his praise deserved. Somewhere at the back of her mind there lay a doubt with which she wrestled while he strove to comfort her. He believed that he had guessed her doubt. "As for not trusting him the way you trust me," he explained, "that's natural. We know the whole of each other's lives; our families are the same kind of families and we share the same kind of friends. Whereas——"
"Whereas," she broke in, "I know nothing about his past, where he lived, who his people were or anything. I know nothing that he enjoyed or laughed at before I saw him lying quietly in our hospital-ward in France. I've questioned him as much as I dared; but always he grows vague. There's something that he's hiding from me. I only gathered that he had known you from the way he pricked up and listened whenever your name was mentioned. That was why, without warning either of you, I—— You see, I had to find out. And then, when he met you face to face he—he lied."
"Hush, Terry."
"But he did. He lied."
She had withdrawn her hands from his and sat
back eyeing him with a clear look of challenge. Tabs was at a loss to explain her change of attitude. Yesterday she had been all for defending this man. What did she gain by accusing him now that she was engaged to him? In any case she had employed too ugly a word. And here was a strange state of affairs, that it should be left to him to defend his successful rival.
"A man is not compelled to know another man unless he likes," he said cautiously. "They may have met some time in the past under unfortunate circumstances—circumstances which are embarrassing to remember. The man to whom that memory is a disadvantage has a right to protect himself by sweeping it clean from his mind."