"Don't repeat that wretched formula," exclaims he vehemently. "It means nothing. It was not for my good. It was for my damnation, I think. You see how things are going."
He stops abruptly here, as if thinking of something, and she knows and resents the knowledge that his mind has gone back to Tita—resents it, though his thought has been condemnatory of his wife. Why can't he forget her altogether?
"Yes I meant it for your good," says she, in a whisper.
Her heart is beating wildly.
"You refused me," persists he, in a dull tone. "That is all I remember. You refused me—how many times?"
She turns away from him.
"Once too often, at all events," replies she, in a low, wretched voice.
She makes a movement as if to go back to the lighted rooms beyond, but he catches her and compels her to stay with him.
"What do you mean?" demands he sternly. "To say that to me—and now—now, when it is too late."
"Too late, indeed!" echoes she.