"You are speaking of dogs," said Violet, haughtily, "I spoke of men."
"The feeling is the same in both," retorted Maxwell.
"Yes, when men resemble dogs.—I spoke of men who possessed the higher qualities."
"Curiously enough," observed Vyner, "the Spaniards, whose jealousy is proverbial, and whose great poet, Calderon, has expressed himself in the almost diabolical manner just mentioned, these Spaniards have no word which properly means jealousy. Zelos is only the plural of zelo—zeal."
"I do not think, papa, you are quite correct," said Violet, "when you say the Spaniards are more jealous than other nations."
"They have the character, my dear."
"I am quite aware of it. But what one nation says of another is seldom accurate. If I understand jealousy, it is the sort of passion which would be felt quite as readily by northerns as by southerns, though it would not be expressed in so vehement a manner; but because one man uses a knife, when another man uses a court of law, that does not make a difference in the sentiments."
"I agree with Violet," said Captain Heath, "it seems to me that jealousy is a mean and debasing passion, whatever may be the cause which excites it. To suspect the woman whom you love and who loves you, is so degrading both to her and to you, that a man who suspects, without overwhelming evidence, must be strangely deficient in nobility of soul; and suppose the evidence complete—suppose that she loves another, even then a noble soul arms itself with fortitude, and instead of wailing like a querulous child, accepts with courage the fate which no peevishness can avert. The love that is gone cannot be recalled by jealousy. A man should say with Othello,—
I'll see before I doubt; when I doubt, prove;
And on the doubt there is no more but this—
Away at once with love and jealousy."
He looked for Blanche as he concluded this speech, but she had already retired to her room.