"On that you had to live and provide yourself with everything. You had a little room in Harlem and used to hang on to a strap every morning and night when you went to and from your work."
"Yes."
"And now you've had the touring car in the summer and the limousine in the winter; when the weather was cold you had your furs, when it was warm you had the yacht! Since we were married you have had every luxury that money could give and luxury gets in the blood, my dear. Luxury gets in the blood! It's got into mine! Could I, of my own free will, go back and live as I used to live and be satisfied? Certainly not! No more can you!"
"I can try," she said doggedly.
"Don't try," he pleaded. "Please don't! You're a dear, fine, sensible, high-minded little woman, but you weren't made to fight against such odds, and if you try it you'll fail. It's inevitable."
"Just the same I'm going to try it."
Her words were final. There was no recalling them. She was determined upon a separation. So be it, he thought to himself. He was as proud, as obstinate as she was. If she insisted on leaving him, he would not argue with her any longer. Sternly he said:
"Then mark my words—you'll either send for me or you'll come back to me."
"I won't, I tell you!" she retorted with spirit.
"That's what you think now."