For the first time in his life Gering had a pang of jealousy and
envy. Only that afternoon he had spent a happy hour with Jessica in the
governor's garden, and he had then made an advance upon the simple
relations of their life in Boston. She had met him without self-
consciousness, persisting in her old ways, and showing only when she left
him, and then for a breath, that she saw his new attitude. Now the eyes
of the two men met, and Gering's dark face flushed and his brow lowered.
Perhaps no one saw but Iberville, but he, seeing, felt a sudden desire to
play upon the other's weakness. He was too good a sportsman to show
temper in a game; he had suddenly come to the knowledge that love, too,
is a game, and needs playing. By this time the dinner was drawing to its
close and now a singular thing happened. As Jessica, with demure
amusement, listened to the talk that followed Iberville's sally, she
chanced to lift her eyes to a window. She started, changed colour, and
gave a little cry. The governor's hand covered hers at once as he
followed her look. It was a summer's night and the curtained windows
were partly open. Iberville noted that Jessica's face wore the self-same
shadow as in the afternoon when she had seen the stranger with Radisson.
"What was it, my dear?" said the governor.
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