He took a long breath, and there was a new light in his eyes as he turned. Inga was at the fireplace, her head resting on her hand, staring into the flames which were licking up the letter she had tossed there.
“What was your letter?” he said, noticing the immobility of her attitude.
“Nothing—a notice from a publisher, that’s all.”
He came closer with a sudden, leaping jealousy which he would have been at a loss to justify.
“Is that true?” he said slowly.
She nodded, looking at the burning, twisted mass.
“Inga, tell me the truth!” he said, in a voice he had never used before with her. She raised her head, met his burning eyes, and answered steadily:
“Why, that was all.”
In the embers, the flame died down. He knew that she had lied to save him pain. In a sudden disgust at this outer world which still had power to throw its disturbing shadow across their Eden, he went to the table and took up the whole correspondence and flung it into the coals.
“Curse them! I wish they’d leave me alone!”