"So you have told me before! And I've cried—and suffered—and forgiven you—and prayed that it would never happen again. And now, dear, I'm not going to cry any more, and it won't happen again."
He looked at her inquiringly—almost apprehensively.
"You—mean?" he stammered. She sank into a chair a little distance from him. The tears had disappeared from her eyes. She had recovered her self-possession. It was only a matter of business which they had to discuss now. Calmly she continued:
"I mean that we have got to have a definite and explicit understanding. I refuse to remain in a position where you can humiliate me as you have done. What must I think of myself if I do? I ask you, Robert, what must I think of myself?" He said nothing and after a short pause she went on: "A good woman must retain her respect for herself—she must know in her heart that she is sweet and fine; if she doesn't what is there left for her? There are just two ways in which I can keep my self respect—and I'm going to keep it—two and only two. One is this—you must promise me now that you will never touch drink again."
He was silent for a moment as if weighing the exact meaning of her words and their significance; then gravely he replied:
"I'm not sure that I could keep such a promise. I'll agree though to try—"
She shook her head.
"No, dear—that won't do. How many times already have you agreed to try and how many times have you failed? You can stop if you wish. You are not a weakling. You're a big man, a strong man. You can stop if you wish and you must promise me that you will or—I—"
"Or what?" he demanded.
"Or I shall take the only other course open to me and—leave you."