"He looked at me vacantly, and blew another sigh.

"'I wonder whether it is fine to-night in England as it is here?' he
said. 'I wonder whether my dear little girl at home is looking at the
moonlight, and thinking of me?'

"I could endure it no longer. I flew out at him at last.

"'Good heavens, Mr. Armadale!' I exclaimed, 'is there only one subject
worth mentioning, in the narrow little world you live in? I'm sick to
death of Miss Milroy. Do pray talk of something else?'

"His great, broad, stupid face colored up to the roots of his hideous
yellow hair. 'I beg your pardon,' he stammered, with a kind of sulky
surprise. 'I didn't suppose--' He stopped confusedly, and looked from
me to Midwinter. I understood what the look meant. 'I didn't suppose she
could be jealous of Miss Milroy after marrying _you_!' That is what he
would have said to Midwinter, if I had left them alone together in the
room!

"As it was, Midwinter had heard us. Before I could speak again--before
Armadale could add another word--he finished his friend's uncompleted
sentence, in a tone that I now heard, and with a look that I now saw,
for the first time.

"'You didn't suppose, Allan,' he said, 'that a lady's temper could be so
easily provoked.'

"The first bitter word of irony, the first hard look of contempt, I had
ever had from him! And Armadale the cause of it!

"My anger suddenly left me. Something came in its place which steadied
me in an instant, and took me silently out of the room.

"I sat down alone in the bedroom. I had a few minutes of thought with
myself, which I don't choose to put into words, even in these secret
pages. I got up, and unlocked--never mind what. I went round to
Midwinter's side of the bed, and took--no matter what I took. The last
thing I did before I left the room was to look at my watch. It was
half-past ten, Armadale's usual time for leaving us. I went back at once
and joined the two men again.

"I approached Armadale good-humoredly, and said to him:

"No! On second thoughts. I won't put down what I said to him, or what I
did afterward. I'm sick of Armadale! he turns up at every second word
I write. I shall pass over what happened in the course of the next
hour--the hour between half-past ten and half-past eleven--and take up
my story again at the time when Armadale had left us. Can I tell what
took place, as soon as our visitor's back was turned, between Midwinter
and me in our own room? Why not pass over