"You grudge me the three or four hours your husband has given me out of the ten years you have lived with him! You hate me because he has talked to me as he would talk to himself—as he would talk to you each day, if you could read the first letter of his mind. And if I love him? If he loves me? Would you deny yourself the little I have taken from you, his wife, if it were yours to take and mine to lose? But be content! Not one word of what you call love has passed between us, or ever will. Is that enough?"
They looked at each other with hate plainly written on their faces.
"You are a bad woman!" Sarah exclaimed brokenly.
"Am I? Think of this, then. I could take your husband—I could from this hour! But for his sake, for his sake, I will not. I will not!"
Sarah groaned, covering her eyes, while Jane walked rapidly out of the room. In a moment the carriage door clicked outside, and we were alone.
"You love that woman, Van!" Sarah's voice broke the silence between us with an accusing moan.
"Why say that—" I began, and stopped; for, after this hour, I knew what it was for one person to be close to another. However, it seemed a foolish thing to be talking about. There would be no gain in going deeper into our hearts.
"There has never been a word between us that you should not hear," I replied; "and now let us say no more."
But Sarah shook her head, unconvinced.
"It is two years or more since I have seen Jane," I added.