She began to look about for the best way to descend.
"I sent the boy who brought me here to East Angels for the phaeton; it will come before long, you won't have to walk back. Now, Margaret, let us have no more useless words; of course you do not dream of doing as Lanse wishes?"
"Yes, I think I shall do it."
"Do you mean to tell me that you wish to go back to that man—after all he has done?"
"I do not wish to. But I must."
"You shall not!" he burst out. His face, usually so calm, was surprisingly altered; it was reddened and darkened.
"Nothing you can say will make any difference," she answered, in the same monotonous tone. Even his rage could not alter the helpless melancholy of her voice.
"Do you think he deserves it—deserves anything? You actually put a premium on loose conduct. You reward him for it, while—while other men, who are trying, at least, to lead decent lives, are thrust aside."
"He is my husband."
"So good a one!"