"Oh, about the wine you mean—yes, he's safe enough for that. And as to looking askance to another woman—he's safe enough for that too, while I live, for he worships the very ground I tread on."
"Indeed! and are you sure you deserve it?"
"Why, as to that, I can't say: you know we're all fallible creatures, Helen; we none of us deserve to be worshipped. But are you sure your darling Huntingdon deserves all the love you give to him?"
I knew not what to answer to this. I was burning with anger; but I suppressed all outward manifestations of it, and only bit my lip and pretended to arrange my work.
"At any rate," resumed she, pursuing her advantage, "you can console yourself with the assurance that you are worthy of all the love he gives to you."
"You flatter me," said I; "but at least, I can try to be worthy of it." And then I turned the conversation.
