“I see I can’t convince you of what’s in my heart,” said she with sweet resignation. “I had no right to expect it—to hope for it. But my life will convince you, Godfrey. I shall win you back!”
I retained my appearance of calmness. But I was the reverse of calm. I appreciated that she had me in her power. So far as I could judge, she was not after more money, but was under the spell of some form of hysteria that gave her the delusion of an actual desire to love me and to be loved by me. As she had a fortune in her own right, and a large one, I was without means of controlling her. I could not compel her to stick to her bargain and make the divorce legally final; and, even if I had been so disposed I had no ground for a divorce from her unless she should be consenting and assisting.
“If you cared for another woman, I might despair,” she went on. “But you don’t. My heart tells me that you don’t.”
Should I tell her? I strangled the impulse as it was born; my common sense lost no time in reminding me of the folly of that course.
“I’ll be so utterly yours, Godfrey,” she went on, “that you’ll simply have to love me.”
I rose. “Let’s have no more of this nonsense,” said I. “Understand, once for all, Edna, the day when you can use me is past—gone forever. You are free—and so am I. We will annoy each other no more.”
She faced me, her bosom heaving, her widening eyes scrutinizing me. And what I saw in them made me quail. For there shone the arch-fiend jealousy. “Godfrey!” she exclaimed at last. “It must be another woman!”
I laughed—not pleasantly, I imagine. “Is there no end to your vanity?” said I.
“Another woman,” she repeated dazedly. “If that weren’t true you couldn’t treat me harshly—you would want me back—would love me——”
“If there were not another woman on earth, I would not go back to you,” said I.