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