“Very handsome—as large as you are, but fair, and even more erect.”
I drew my shoulders up sharply. I am straight enough, but I was fairly sagging with jealous rage.
“When mother began to get around, somebody told her that I had been going about with Mrs. Curtis and her brother, and we had a dreadful time. I was dragged home like a bad child. Did anybody ever do that to you?”
“Nobody ever cared. I was born an orphan,” I said, with a cheerless attempt at levity. “Go on.”
“If Mrs. Curtis knew, she never said anything. She wrote me charming letters, and in the summer, when they went to Cresson, she asked me to visit her there. I was too proud to let her know that I could not go where I wished, and so—I sent Polly, my maid, to her aunt’s in the country, pretended to go to Seal Harbor, and really went to Cresson. You see I warned you it would be an unpleasant story.”
I went over and stood in front of her. All the accumulated jealousy of the last few weeks had been fired by what she told me. If Sullivan had come across the sands just then, I think I would have strangled him with my hands, out of pure hate.
“Did you marry him?” I demanded. My voice sounded hoarse and strange in my ears. “That’s all I want to know. Did you marry him?”
“No.”
I drew a long breath.
“You—cared about him?”