ll not that--?'

'Be quiet a moment, will you, Arthur?' said I, 'and listen to me--and
don't think I'm in a jealous fury: I am perfectly calm. Feel my hand.'
And I gravely extended it towards him--but closed it upon his with an
energy that seemed to disprove the assertion, and made him smile. 'You
needn't smile, sir,' said I, still tightening my grasp, and looking
steadfastly on him till he almost quailed before me. 'You may think it
all very fine, Mr. Huntingdon, to amuse yourself with rousing my
jealousy; but take care you don't rouse my hate instead. And when you
have once extinguished my love, you will find it no easy matter to kindle
it again.'

'Well, Helen, I won't repeat the offence. But I meant nothing by it, I
assure you. I had taken too much wine, and I was scarcely myself at the
time.'

'You often take too much; and that is another practice I detest.' He
looked up astonished at my warmth. 'Yes,' I continued; 'I never
mentioned it before, because I was ashamed to do so; but now I'll tell
you that it distresses me, and may disgust me, if you go on and suffer
the habit to grow upon you, as it will if you don't check it in time.
But the whole system of your conduct to Lady Lowborough is not referable
to wine; and this night you knew perfectly well what you were doing.'

'Well, I'm sorry for it,' replied he, with more of sulkiness than
contrition: 'what more would you have?'

'You are sorry that I saw you, no doubt,' I answered coldly.

'If you had not seen me,' he muttered, fixing his eyes on the carpet, 'it
would have done no harm.'

My heart felt ready to burst; but I resolutely swallowed back my emotion,
and answered calmly,

'You think not?'

'No,' replied he, boldly. 'After all, what have I done? It's
nothing--except as you choose to make it a subject of accusation and
distress.'

'What would Lord Lowborough, your friend, think, if he knew all? or what
would you yourself think, if he or any other had acted the same part to
me, throughout, as you have to Annabella?'

'I would blow his brains out.'

'Well, then, Arthur, how can you call it nothing--an offence for which
you would think yourself justified in blowing another man's brains out?
Is it nothing to trifle with your friend's feelings and mine--to
endeavour to steal a woman's affections from her husband--what he values
more than his gold, and therefore what it is more dishonest to take? Are
the marriage vows a jest; and is it n