He. First, for your confidence in me; and second, for telling me an experience so like my own. It was not the sea, but circumstances that delivered me over to myself,—a long, slow convalescence, in which I, too, had an interview with the Nemesis of truth, and found a carefully built structure of shams and self-deception go down as mist before the sun. The most frightful being in the world to encounter is one’s estranged better self.
She. That is true. No one but myself could have persuaded me that it was I who was to blame. The more I was argued with, the more I believed myself a martyr, and my husband—
He. Your husband?
She. I have betrayed myself. I am not mademoiselle, but madame.
He. But I see no—
She. No ring? True; I returned that to my husband before I went to Britany.
He. And in Britany?
She. In Britany I would have given the world to have it back again.
He. But your husband? Did he accept it so easily?
She. What else can a man do when his wife casts him off?