"Jim, suppose it was something you had done long ago that _I_ couldn't
forgive?"
"It isn't a question of forgiveness," he answered quickly.
"Forgiveness--when you are the sweetest and best wife a man ever had!
No, darling," he caught both her hands in his own, "you must never think
that, it's never that! It's only my mad, crazy jealousy. I tell you I'm
ashamed of it, and I _am_! Just be patient with me, Julia!"
Julia stared at him a few moments silently, her hands locked about his
neck.
"Ah, but you _worry_ me so when you're like this, Jim," she said
presently, in the gentle, troubled tone a mother might use. "There seems
to be nothing I can do. I can only worry and wait!"
"I know, I know," he said hastily. "Don't remind me of it! My father was
like that, you know. My father shot at a man once because he was rude to
my mother when he was drunk--shot him right through the shoulder! It
raised the very deuce of a scandal down there in Honolulu! He took
Mother to Europe to get away from the fuss, and paid the man the Lord
knows what to quiet the thing!"
"Yes, but life isn't like that, Jim," Julia protested.
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