"Nonsense; I do not understand you. You do not know what you are saying."
"Yes, Sir Henry, I do know well what I am saying. It may be that I have done you some injury; if so, I regret it. God knows that you have done me much. We can neither of us now add to each other's comfort, and it will be well that we should part."
"Do you mean me to understand that you intend to leave me?"
"That is what I intend you to understand."
"Nonsense; you will do no such thing."
"What! would you have us remain together, hating each other, vilifying each other, calling each other base names as you just now called me? And do you think that we could still be man and wife? No, Sir Henry. I have made one great mistake—committed one wretched, fatal error. I have so placed myself that I must hear myself so called and bear it quietly; but I will not continue to be so used. Do you think he would have called me so?"
"Damn him!"
"That will not hurt him. Your words are impotent against him, though they may make me shudder."
"Do not speak of him, then."
"No, I will not. I will only think of him."