That night, when she was dressing for Nevins's supper, she noticed that there was a faint flush in her cheeks and her hands were hot.
"We lead such a quiet life," she said, laughing, "that a very little thing excites me."
Algarcife, who was shaving, put down his razor and came towards her. He was in his shirt-sleeves, and she noticed that he looked paler and more haggard than usual.
"Look here, Mariana," he began, "don't talk too much to Nevins; I don't like it."
Mariana confronted him smilingly.
"You are positively the green-eyed monster himself," she said. "But why don't you say Ardly, and come nearer the truth? I was in love with him once, you know."
"Hush!" said Anthony, savagely; "you oughtn't to joke about such things; it isn't decent."
"Oh, it didn't go as far as that!" returned Mariana, with audacity.
"How dare you!" exclaimed Algarcife, and they flung themselves into each other's arms.
"How absurd you are!" said Mariana, looking up. "You haven't one little atom of common-sense—not one."