"Miss Wose, Miss Wose!" said Tom Wincot, shaking his finger at the laughing girl.
"So that, if you have ever been jealous," she continued, "you must have an exaggerated susceptibility."
"And why an exaggewated susceptibility?"
"Because jealous of a person no other earthly being would think of disputing with you—your own!"
This sally produced a hearty laugh, and Tom Wincot, turning to Violet, said,—
"I'm afwaid of your sister Wose's wepawtees, so shall not pwolong the discussion; but pway explain your pwevious weflection on jealousy."
"I mean," said Violet, "that jealousy has its source in egotism; love, on the contrary, has its source in sympathy: hence it is that the manifestations of the one are always contemptible, of the other always noble and beautiful."
"And I," said Maxwell, his dark face lighting up with a savage expression, "think that jealousy is the most natural instinctive feeling we possess. The man or woman who is not jealous, does not know what it is to love."
"That is a mere assertion, Mr. Maxwell: can you prove it?'
"Prove it! easily. What is jealousy but a fear of losing what we hold most dearly? Look at a dog over a bone; if you approach him he will growl, though you may have no intention of taking away his bone: your presence is enough to excite his fear and anger. If you attempt to snatch it, though in play, then he will bite."