Rose took her courage in both hands. There was something in the man’s face which showed her she had need of it.
“Dick,” she said, quietly, “it hasn’t taken me long to discover that people are talking.”
He smiled grimly. “But that is perennial.”
“And,” continued Rose, undaunted, “her husband is jealous.”
This time he laughed unpleasantly. “Of what? Her success?”
“Partly. But not only that. Of her—of you.” It was out now, and she took breath a little uneasily.
He rose, and stood leaning against the window-frame.
“In the face of that?” he jerked his head in the direction of Robert’s study, and laughed again. There was something in his tone, a savage irony, mingled with a kind of appeal, that made it very difficult for Rose to keep her head. Yet she managed to answer coolly.
“Oh, yes—quite. But, as I’ve often found, it takes one man to expect logic from another.”
“There’s something more important than logic that the average man surely may expect,” returned Mayne. He had thrown off all attempt at lightness of tone by now.