"I have no wish to read it," he said coldly.
Susan was in despair.
"Tom, what else can I do?" she said. "Oh, let me send for it? I never dreamed that you would mind not seeing it. Why, you don't see half my letters to Bell."
He made no reply. Susan sat silent for a moment. She seemed no nearer her husband than before. The same intangible icy barrier which had filled her with such anguish all day was there still. Suddenly, with one of those lightning impulses, by which men in desperate need have often been saved as by a miracle, Susan exclaimed:—
"Tom, I can tell you all there was in the letter. I mean all there was which I did not want you to see." She paused. Her husband fixed his eyes on her with as piercing a gaze as if she had been a witness in a case of life and death. "This was it," continued Susan. "It was about Professor Balloure. You know what you said to me the other morning, that at any rate he could n't have me."
Tom nodded.
"Well, I can't tell you how that shocked me. I never dreamed of your having had any feeling like jealousy about him, or any thought about him in any way in connection with me. Oh, Tom, Tom! how could you ever help knowing that with all the love of my whole nature I have loved you! Well, you see, Bell had always talked to me about the professor's caring for me. She always thought he
