” “You are jealous,” she declared contemptuously. She liked the high, easy swing of the thing over its big wheels, the quick clatter-patter of the horse, the passage of the teeming streets. She decided not to ask him outright if he wished to make love to her. He seemed inexorable, and inscrutable as fate itself. "Is it poison?" she asked. "I heard his voice; but I saw them on the stairs, and durst not approach him, for fear of giving the alarm. I have—run away. Tell me why you ran away from the convent. It was impulsive and natural.
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