“Stop a moment,” he said hoarsely, as he began to walk up and down once more. “Let me think—let me take matters coolly, or I shall go mad. There, there, this will not do; I’m going up and down here like a wild beast in his cage.”
He made an effort, and forced himself to sit down. “Now,” he said, “let’s see. What does this mean? Here am I, a strong, full-blooded, sane man, and what have I been doing?”
He paused for a moment before answering his question.
“Letting my mind dwell on thoughts that are a disgrace to me, till I imagine—yes, imagine—so vividly that it seems real, all that nonsense. I picture the scene. I magnify a simple piece of cardboard, and make it fit my own vile imaginations till I see what could never have taken place; and on the strength of that, what am I going to do? Why rush off home as jealous and mad as an Othello, ready to distort everything I see, believe what does not exist, and generally play such a part as I should repent to my last day. Poor girl, has it come to this, that I cannot trust you, and am going to play the spy upon your actions?”
“No, hang me if I do. Now, look here, Dutch, this is not manly,” he continued, catechising himself. “You are foolishly jealous of that man, are you not?”
“Yes,” he said, answering his own question. “Now then, why are you jealous? Has your wife ever given you the slightest cause?”
“Never, so help me Heaven.”
“There, then, does not that satisfy you? Why, man, if everyone who has a handsome wife were to act like this, what a world we should have. So much, then, for your wife. Now, then, about this man—what of him? He is polished and refined, and pays your wife attentions. Well, so would any foreigner under the circumstances. Shame, man, shame; he is your guest, the guest, too, of a woman whose truth you know—whose whole life is beyond suspicion. You leave her every day to go here or there, and does she ask you where you have been—what you have done? Does she suspect you? Why, Dutch Pugh, you wretched maniac, if she saw you talking to a score of pretty women how would she act? I’ll tell you. She’d open those sweet, candid eyes of hers, and beam upon you, and no more doubt your truth than that of Heaven.”
“And I’ll not doubt yours, darling,” he muttered, going to the desk, taking out the photograph, kissing it before putting it back; and then, tightening his lips, he took his seat, fixed his attention upon his work, and grew so intent that the next time he looked at his watch it was close upon nine, when, in a calm, matter-of-fact way, he walked all the way home.
In spite of his determination, he could not help seeing that Hester looked pale and troubled when he entered the little drawing-room, and that her manner was strange and constrained. She met his gaze in a timid way, and without doubt her hand trembled.