If I felt so deeply annoyed at the first morning visit which William

Edgerton paid to my wife, what was my annoyance when these visits

became habitual. I was miserable but could not complain. I was

ashamed of the language of complaint on such a subject. There is

something very ridiculous in the idea of a jealous husband--it has

always provoked the laughter of the world; and I was one of those

men who shrunk from ridicule with a more than mortal dread. Besides,

I really felt no alarm. I had the utmost confidence in my wife's

virtue. I had not the less confidence in that of Edgerton. But I

was jealous of her deference--of her regard--for another. She was,

in my eyes, as something sacred, set apart--a treasure exclusively my

own! Should it be that another should come to divide her veneration

with me? I was vexed that she should derive satisfaction from another

source than myself. This satisfaction she derived from the visits

of Edgerton. She freely avowed it.

"How amiable--how pleasant he is," she would say, in the perfect

innocence of her heart; "and really, Edward, he has so much talent!"

These praises annoyed me. They were as so much wormwood to my spirit.

It must be remembered that I was not myself what the world calls

an amiable man. I doubt if any, even of my best friends, would

describe me as a pleasant one. I was a man of too direct and

earnest a temperament to establish a claim, in reasonable degree,

to either of these characteristics. I was, accordingly, something

blunt in my address--the tones of my voice were loud--my manner

was all empressement, except when I was actually angry, and then

it was cold. hard, dry, inflexible. I was the last person in the

world to pass for an amiable. Now, Julia, on the other hand, was

quiet, subdued, timorous--the tones of a strong, decided voice

startled her--she shrunk from controversy--yielded always with

a happy grace in anticipation of the conflict, and showed, in all

respects, that nice, almost nervous organization which attaches

the value of principles and morals to mere manners, and would be

as much shocked, perhaps, at the expression of a rudeness, as at

the commission of a sin. Not that such persons would hold a sin to

be less criminal or innocuous than would we ourselves; but that

they regard mere conduct as of so much more importance.

When, therefore, she praised William Edgerton for those qualities

which I well knew I did not possess, I could not resist the annoyance.

My self-esteem--continually active--stimulated as it had been

by the constant moral strife, to which it had been subjected from

boyhood--was continually apprehending disparagement. Of the purity

of Julia's heart, and the chastity of her conduct, the very freedom

of her utterance was conclusive. Had she felt one single improper

emotion toward William Edgerton, her lips would never have voluntarily

uttered his name, and never in the language of applause. On this

head I had not then the slightest apprehension. It was not jealousy

so much as EGOISME that was preying upon me. Whatever it was,

however, it could not be repressed as I listened to the eulogistic

language of my wife. I strove, but could not subdue, altogether,

the evil spirit which was fast becoming predominant within me. Yet,

though speaking under its immediate influence, I was very far from

betraying its true nature. My egoisme had not yet made such advances

as to become reckless and incautious. I surprised her by my answer

to her eulogies.




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