_June 6th._--Constance should not have said that; there was no need.
Why have I come upstairs and left them together? I am raving mad.
And now to cry like a baby! I have cried every day for five days;
this is monstrous! I think that if some one came and whipped me, I
might feel better. This is some sickness, surely; relaxed nerves,
quick blood. I shall write it all down carefully, calling on what
sense I have left to be judge. Of course the judge will laugh. But
first I will wash my face.
In the beginning, Constance said she was not sure she liked him. Let
me remember his first words about her, the day after her arrival. I
brought him into the drawing-room, and put his hand into hers,
saying, "Here is your friend."
He was very shy, and hardly looked at her. "We are meeting under
inauspicious circumstances, Mrs. Norris," said he. "We have heard so
much about each other that I, at least, cannot reconcile the
strangeness of your person with the intimate affection I have so
long had for you in my thoughts."
Constance laughed.
"It _is_ funny, isn't it?" said she. "I know what you mean. I
thought I knew you quite well, and you're not at all the sort of
person I thought you were."
Gabriel did not stay long; I went with him to the door when he left,
and he said:
"She is prettier than her photograph. I like her, Emilia." I was so
glad.
Constance soon began to take an interest in him; he amused her.
"He is the queerest creature I ever saw," she said; "I can't set
eyes on him without laughing; he is too comic."
Then she fell ill, poor love! They did not meet for a long time. And
every day, when Gabriel came to fetch me for my walk, he only asked
after her as he should have asked after my dearest friend. Of
course, when she got better and he sat with us daily to help me to
amuse her, they were thrown more together. It was a great joy to me
to see how well they got on.
Then she began to tease him. They never talked very much, for all
that. When I come to think of it, it was early last month that
Constance began to say, "How is your friend this morning?" or "I
haven't seen Gabriel for two days; I miss him; he makes me laugh."
But I did not notice it then.
What? Is this all I have to say? It is too ridiculous! Of course she
likes him; one cannot come near him without some love. Besides, she
would like him for my sake. It is all so natural. He, too, did not
often speak of her, does not often speak of her. It is natural,
knowing how I love her, that he should feel at ease with my
Constance. Nor could I have wished it to be otherwise.
Now let me think when I was first taken with this mad fit. It was
last Thursday week; we were all three in the wood; it was one of my
bad days, when I love him unto pain; it hurt me that he lagged
behind, I wanted him near. And I twice saw Constance turn to look
after him; I turned, too,--they smiled at each other. When he drew
up, the path was wider; it was the first time, I think, that instead
of coming to my side, or placing himself between us, he went round
to Constance.
I noticed it, I felt it; there spread a quick pain through my whole
being. It was silly, perhaps, but I walked round behind him, and
slipped my hand through his arm.
"Are you tired, my Emilia?" he asked; but I answered:
"No, dear; I only wanted to take your arm."
And I said to myself, "I am very glad that he is mine, and not
another woman's."
I never remember having understood hatred as I did at that moment;
the possibility of his growing to love Constance had not yet
occurred to me, only the thought that he might some day love another
woman better than me. And it dawned upon me thus suddenly that I was
jealous.
And now, what does the judge think? No evidence, of course not; they
are both as true as gold, they both love me dearly, they would not
dream of a flirtation,--pah! the word sickens me, it is not fit. And
there am I in my folly leaving them together, whilst I give way to
ugly doubts, and tear myself by an ugly passion.