Tom began to understand her now.
“Well, one cannot lay down hard and fast lines; but it is not now customary for a man to attempt the sort of vengeance that he would have done a century or so back. He tries in these days to hurt an enemy morally by injuring his reputation; and I think no one need stand in much awe of Fitzgerald, least of all a man like your husband. It is necessary to possess a reputation of one’s own to undermine that of another with much success. Fitzgerald certainly has a reputation, but not the kind that makes him dangerous as an enemy.”
Monica heard this dictum in silence. She did not appear much relieved, and he saw it.
“Now you anticipate,” he continued, quite quietly and unemotionally, “that he will make a regular attack upon Trevlyn one of these days?”
“I am afraid so sometimes,” answered Monica. “It may be very foolish; but I am afraid. He always seems watching us. Hardly a day goes by but I see him, with such an evil look in his eye. Tom, I sometimes think that he is going mad.”
The young man’s face changed slightly.
“That, of course, would put a new colour on the matter. Have you any reasons upon which to base your suspicions?”
“Nothing that you would perhaps call reasons, but they make me suspicious. Randolph, spoke of a touch of insanity that he had fancied lurked in his brain. At least, when he hates he seems to hate with a ferocity that suggests the idea of madness. Tom, if you were to see him, should you know?”
Tom mused a little.