It was all she could do to force the words from her dry throat. With a desperate effort she pulled herself together and tried to talk calmly and reasonably.
"I'm sorry for the way I've behaved, Frank. It was silly and childish of me to struggle with you. You irritated me, you see, by the way you spoke and the tone you took."
"Oh, I don't mind. I don't know much about women and I guess they're queer. We had to fix things up sometime and I guess there's no harm in getting it over right now."
"You've beaten me all along the line and I'm in your power. Have mercy on me!"
"I guess you won't have much cause to complain."
"I married you in a fit of temper. It was very stupid of me. I'm very sorry that I—that I've been all this trouble to you. Won't you let me go?"
"No, I can't do that."
"I'm no good to you. You've told me that I'm useless. I can't do any of the things that you want a wife to do. Oh," she ended passionately, "you can't be so hard-hearted as to make me pay with all my whole life for one moment's madness!"
"What good will it do you if I let you go? Will you go to Gertie and beg her to take you back again? You've got too much pride for that."
She made a gesture of abnegation: "I don't think I've got much pride left."