"No, no," she protested. "I know. Ever since I first learned that she had—had been in here with you, I—I haven't been able to get her out of mind—I may have appeared to, but I'm not one who forgets things easily; and to meet her at the cabin, the very place where I thought I should—should have you all to myself—it was too much. Jerry. I couldn't stand it. Something—something in me rebelled. I grew cold all over and hard against all the world, even you."
"But this was foolish of you. Una, a friend. Surely there was no harm in my seeing her here?"
"It was foolish," there was a slight change in the intonation of her voice here, "but I know the world so much better than you, Jerry. Girls are so designing, so—so untrustworthy."
"You don't know Una if you say that," said Jerry loyally.
"Perhaps I don't. I don't wish to think badly of anyone you call a friend but Una is so—er—so independent—so accustomed to moving with queer people—" She paused a moment again to give her insinuation weight. "I don't know," she sighed. "I thought all sorts of horrible things about you."
"Horrible! How? Why?"
"Oh, Jerry. Think for a moment. It was natural in me, wasn't it? If I hadn't been jealous of you I couldn't have loved you very much, could I?"
"But horrible thoughts! I don't understand. You might think that there was something between Una and me if you chose to be suspicious, but to think unpleasant things of her, I can't see—"
"You're making it very difficult for me—you're so strange," she murmured. "Isn't it something that I've lowered my pride to the earth in coming here to you? That I've given up Chan? That I'm pleading to you for forgiveness?"
"It is, of course. I do forgive you," he murmured