“You fool! you blamed fool!” he exclaimed. “But I’m a fool, too,” he said, standing and facing Jacquelin.
“I think you are.” Jacquelin was still grave.
“Why, Blair knows it.”
“Knows what?”
“Knows that I’m in love with Ruth Welch. She divined it long ago and has been my confidante.”
“What!—Steve!—” The expression on Jacquelin’s face underwent a dozen changes in as many seconds. Astonishment, incredulity, memory, reflection, regret, hope—all were there, chasing each other and tumbling over one another in wild confusion. “Steve,” he began again in hopeless amazement, with a tone almost of entreaty, but stopped short.
“You double-dyed, blind idiot!” exclaimed Steve, “Don’t you know that Blair Cary don’t care a button for me? never has cared and never will care but for one man——?”
“Middleton!” Jacquelin turned away with a fierce gesture.
“No, you jealous fool!”