He had known, of course, that deep down in his heart he loved her, always had loved her, and always would love her.
Hopelessly and drearily he accepted this as a fact even while with all his might fighting that tiger skin.

So sure was he, indeed, of this, so implicitly had he accepted it as an unalterable certainty, that in time even his efforts to fight it became almost mechanical and unconscious in their stern round of forced indifference.
Then came that day at the Annex--and the discovery: the discovery which he had made when Billy called his attention to Calderwell and Alice Greggory across the room in the corner; the discovery which had come with so blinding a force, and which even now he was tempted to question as to its reality; the discovery that not Billy Neilson, nor Mrs.
Bertram Henshaw, nor even the tender ghost of a lost love held the center of his heart--but Alice Greggory.
The first intimation of all this had come with his curious feeling of unreasoning hatred and blind indignation toward Calderwell as, through Billy's eyes, he had seen the two together.

Then had come the overwhelming longing to pick up Alice Greggory and run off with her--somewhere, anywhere, so that Calderwell could not follow.
At once, however, he had pulled himself up short with the mental cry of "Absurd!" What was it to him if Calderwell did care for Alice Greggory?
Surely he himself was not in love with the girl.

He was in love with Billy; that is-- It was all confusion then, in his mind, and he was glad indeed when he could leave the house.

He wanted to be alone.