Suddenly he had become almost wistfully moral, seeing himself the incarnation of good, and people like Mellors and Connie the incarnation of mud, of evil. He seemed to be growing vague, inside a nimbus.
"So don't you think you'd better divorce me and have done with it?" she said.
"No! You can go where you like, but I shan't divorce you," he said idiotically.
"Why not?"
He was silent, in the silence of imbecile obstinacy.
"Would you even let the child be legally yours, and your heir?" she said.
"I care nothing about the child."
"But if it's a boy it will be legally your son, and it will inherit your title, and have Wragby."
"I care nothing about that," he said.
"But you must! I shall prevent the child from being legally yours, if I can. I'd so much rather it were illegitimate, and mine: if it can't be Mellors'."