seemed more remote, more distant,
because he felt a certain coldness, and--yes--the coldness was there
because he was a little hurt perhaps.... And then he tried to go to
sleep again. But instantly his insane vision came back, and he got up
and walked round the room and tried to banish it.... At last he really
went to sleep, and awoke trembling with horror. He had had a horrible
dream. He dreamt that Harry was writing a letter, and that he had taken
the dagger from the wall of the studio and killed him. This was simply
horrible.

Then he began to realise the reason. It was subconscious jealousy. Then
he saw that he had set himself a task too big for him, and that he could
not endure to see Harry with Valentia now. It would be impossible to
bear it. He would have to tell him to go. He had mistaken his own
feelings. What he had heard on the verandah, what he had imagined, could
never be obliterated. Indeed, he saw clearly that if he tried to endure
it he would break down. The effort would lead to madness.--It was
impossible.... He had sent Harry back to her! He had actually sent him;
it was unbearable.

He would go back the next day, take Harry aside, and tell him that he
had found he couldn't bear it, and that on some pretext he must go away.
He would tell him that he had reached the limit of his endurance and
could bear no more. He would never speak of it to Valentia. Valentia
would be sad--but that could not be helped. He knew, now, that he could
not endure the sight of Harry again.

Having made this resolution, he became much calmer. But the dream
recurred each time he went to sleep until, in dread of it, he resolved
to sleep no more. His nerves felt shattered.

And then, he began to count the minutes till he could be back at the
Green Gate. To see Valentia again and to banish Harry for ever! And all
the obvious, human feelings that he thought he was free from had come
back. He broke down; bitter tears of self-pity, of sentiment, and of
heartbroken humiliation fell from his eyes. He remembered their
engagement and their honeymoon, and then the eternal and everlasting
amusing cousin; Harry, and his sickening good looks and ceaseless
chatter. No more of it, by heaven! It would be something worth having
lived for to have no more of the brilliant Harry. He saw now that he had
always been subconsciously jealous of him--that he had always loathed
and hated him. And rightly, by instinct; for not only had he done the
mos