He half sprang up from the bed in which he was lying, his eyes fairly scintillating with rage.
"Would you dare disgrace me in this way?" he said, in a voice hoarse with passion.
"Disgrace you? Disgrace a fiddlestick! Are you losing all the little sense you ever had, Mr. Courtney?" said his wife, now really indignant.
"Are you really smitten with—do you love this man?" he asked, in a hoarse, fierce whisper, keeping his gleaming, black eyes still fixed on her face.
For a moment a flash of intense anger shot from the eyes of Mrs. Courtney; then, as if the absurdity of the question overcame every other feeling, she threw herself back in her chair, and broke out in a hearty peal of laughter.
The action might have dispelled his absurd doubts; but, as nothing can convince jealous souls, he even looked upon this, as another proof of her guilt, and, raising himself up in his bed, he grasped her arm, while again he hissed:
"Do you love him?"
"Mr. Courtney, don't bother me!" said his polite spouse, indignantly shaking off his hand; "and don't make a greater simpleton of yourself than nature made you. Love him indeed! I've had enough of love for one while, I can tell you. I found it dose enough the last time I was fool enough to try it, and now that I've got nicely over it, nobody'll catch me at it again."
This was a most unfortunate speech, for Courtney's fear, day and night, was, lest his wife should cease to love him. He closed his teeth with a snap, and fell back on his pillow with a sepulchral moan.
There was a pause, during which Mrs. Courtney leisurely combed out her curls, and Mr. Courtney lay with knit brows, and deep, labored breathing. At length, he turned over, and said huskily: