'Yes,' said Mrs. Vansuythen very softly.

Mrs. Boulte wavered for an instant where she stood, and then fell
forward fainting.

'What did I tell you?' said Boulte, as though the conversation had
been unbroken. 'You can see for yourself. She cares for him.' The
light began to break into his dull mind, and he went on ' And he
what was he saying to you?'

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?'