“I do not like to leave you without saying it.”
“I hope you have not misunderstood me, Marian. I did not mean that we should part.”
“I know that. Nevertheless, we shall part. I will never sleep beneath the same roof with you again.”
“Come!” he said, shutting the door: “this is nonsense. You are out of temper.”
“So you have already told me,” she said, becoming pale.
“Well, but—Marian: perhaps I may have spoken rather harshly just now; but I did not mean you to take it so. You must be reasonable.”
“Pray let us have no more words about it. I need no apologies, and desire no advances. Good-bye is enough.”
“But, Marian,” said he, coming nearer, “you must not fancy that I have ceased to love you.”
“Above all,” said Marian, “let us have no more of that. You say you hate this place and the life we lead here. I am heartily sick of it, and have been so for a long time.”
“Let us go elsewhere.”