She considered a moment and then said "No, I think not, though I am glad you ask me.

You see, one can't be jealous about things in general; but about particular, definite, personal things,"-- here she had thrown her hands up to his shoulders with a quick, impulsive gesture--"oh, about those I should be very jealous.

I should torture myself--I couldn't help it." After that it was easy to forget, actually to forget.

He wondered to-night, as he poured his wine, how many times he had thought of Hilda in the last ten years.

He had been in London more or less, but he had never happened to hear of her.