"I don't suppose so."
"If you should—"
"Well?"
"Don't say anything harsh, Sylvia. Please do not blame him, or—"
"I'll wring his neck!" was the emphatic retort.
"Oh, please—please dear—for my sake! I can't let you go if you go in that spirit," pleaded Marcia in alarm.
"There, there—you need not worry for fear I shall maltreat your Romeo, richly as he deserves it," was the response. "I could kill him—but I won't—because of you. Nevertheless, I warn you that if I get the chance I shall tell him what I think of him. No power on earth can keep me from doing that. He is terribly to blame and ought to realize it. No married man has any business playing round with another woman. He may get by with it in New York, but on Cape Cod or in Alton City," she drew herself up, "it just isn't done and the sooner Stanley Heath understands that, the better. That's that! Now I'll get my hat and go."
"I am half afraid to let you, Sylvia."
"You don't trust me? Don't you believe I love you?"
"I am afraid you love me too much, dear."