But Mrs. Vansuythen, with no heart for explanations or impassioned protestations, was kneeling over Mrs. Boulte.
"Oh you brute!" she cried. "Are all men like this? Help me to get her into my room—and her face is cut against the table. Oh, will you be quiet, and help me to carry her? I hate you, and I hate Captain Kurrell. Lift her up carefully and now—go! Go away!"
Boulte carried his wife into Mrs. Vansuythen's bedroom and departed before the storm of that lady's wrath and disgust, impenitent and burning with jealousy. Kurrell had been making love to Mrs. Vansuythen—would do Vansuythen as great a wrong as he had done Boulte who caught himself considering whether Mrs. Vansuythen would faint if she discovered that the man she loved had forsworn her.
In the middle of these meditations, Kurrell came cantering along the road and pulled up with a cheery, "Good mornin'. Been mashing Mrs. Vansuythen as usual, eh? Bad thing for a sober, married man, that. What will Mrs. Boulte say?"
Boulte raised his head and said slowly: "Oh you liar".
Kurrell's face changed. "What's that?" he asked quickly.
"Nothing much," said Boulte. "Has my wife told you that you two are free to go off whenever you please? She has been good enough to explain the situation to me. You've been a true friend to me, Kurrell, old man, haven't you."
Kurrell groaned, and tried to frame some sort of idiotic sentence about being willing to give "satisfaction". But his interest in the woman was dead, had died out in the Rains, and, mentally, he was abusing her for her amazing indiscretion. It would have been so easy to have broken off the affair gently and by degrees, and now he was saddled withBoulte's voice recalled him.
"I don't think I should get any satisfaction from killing you, and I'm pretty sure you'd get none from killing me."
Then in a querulous tone, ludicrously disproportioned to his wrongs, Boulte added:
"Seems rather a pity that you haven't the decency to
