She patted him on the shoulder. "Go to bed, laddie, it's only a mood. She will be all sunshine to-morrow. It's only a reaction from a wearisome day--be patient and don't worry."
"She tortured me deliberately," he went on, wildly. "She let that man take her hand. She smiled at him in a way that set my brain on fire. I tried to be calm. I didn't intend to speak harshly, but I wanted to kill him when he said good-night to her. May God eternally damn his soul if he tries to steal her from me!"
She recoiled from his fury. "Tony! What are you saying?"
"I mean it! Do you think I will submit to his treachery? I told him she was mine, and yet he took her hand--he leaned to her--he looked into her face." His eyes blazed with such wild light that the gentle woman shrank and shivered.
"Tony, you are letting your imagination run away with you. Go to bed this instant," she commanded, in a voice that trembled.
He went away at last, weeping, miserably maudlin, almost incoherent, and when she closed and locked the door upon him she dropped into a chair, and for the first time since her husband's death gave way to tears of bewilderment and despair.