The Swede stared in breathless astonishment.
“She isn’t, though” he gasped at length in startled protest.
“But supposing––”
“It would be so. I couldn’t help it.” 181
“You’d do nothing?” rank anarchy in the suggestion.
“What would there be to do?”
Ichabod temporized.
“Supposing again, she loved you, and didn’t love her husband?” Ole scratched his head, seeing very devious passages beyond. “That would be different,” and he crossed his legs.
Ichabod smiled. The world over, human nature is fashioned from one mould.
“Supposing, once more, it’s a year from now,––five years from now. You’ve married Minna, but you’re not happy. She’s grown to hate you,––to love another man?”