CONCERNING A QUARREL
you know?" he began, and perceived that line was impossible. He took the way of the natural man; he ejaculated an "Ugh!" of vast disgust, he raised his voice. "You are unreasonable!" he cried in angry remonstrance. "Fancy saying that! As though you ever tried to please me! Just as though it wasn't all the other way about!" He stopped—struck by a momentary perception of injustice. He plunged at the point he had shirked. "How did you know it was Miss Heydinger———?"
Ethel's voice took upon itself the quality of tears. "I wasn't meant to know, was I?" she said.
"But how?"
"I suppose you think it doesn't concern me? I suppose you think I'm made of stone."
"You mean—you think———?"
"Yes—I do."
For a brief interval Lewisham stared at the issue she had laid bare. He sought some crushing proposition, some line of convincing reasoning, with which to overwhelm and hide this new aspect of things. It would not come. He found himself fenced in on every side. A surging, irrational rage seized upon him.
"Jealousy!" he cried. "Jealousy! Just as though— Can't I have letters about things you don't understand—that you won't understand? If I asked you to read them you wouldn't— It's just because———"
"You never give me a chance to understand."
"Don't I?"
"No!"
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