Friendship and Folly: A Novel

by Maria Louise Pool

"He will drown," said Prudence.

"No matter."

"But you will be hanged."

"In that case you will be a widow."

Here Lawrence began to laugh. Drops of moisture appeared on his forehead.

Prudence rose again. This time she came and was going to sit down by her husband, but he made a gesture for her to go back.

"He won't drown,—never fear," he said.

"As if I cared whether he drowned or not!" she cried. "It's you I care for."

At this Lawrence laughed again. He was watching Meramble, who was swimming after them, his black head shining on top of the water.

Now he withdrew his eyes from Meramble, and fixed them on his wife. He felt as if a devil were in him that was not yet satisfied. And why should he still have that furious, unreasoning love for this woman? Had she not jilted him once, and when she could not get her English lord, had she not won him again? Did she love him? Had she ever loved him? Good God! it was dreadful to look at her now and doubt her. There was terror in her face, but there was something else, too, the thing which had lured him and held him, and which he was afraid would always hold him; and it seemed to be love for him,—some cruel passion which a woman like her was capable of feeling, even while she coquetted with other men. He did not understand; he was not going to endure it.