“You’re going too far!” she cried. “I can’t stand everything!”
“Oh, yes, you can! Instead of pride, you’ve got your sanctimonious self-satisfaction. You cry instead of hitting back.”
She clenched her hands and stood, with blazing cheeks, and passionately beating heart, fighting to keep silent.
“I won’t hurt him!” she told herself. “He’s blind and lonely. No matter what he says, I’ll remember that I’m all he has in the world, and that he needs me. I won’t say anything that will hurt him!”
“What are you doing now?” he asked. “Praying? That’s right. Pray for a pure heart and then ask for a little money, while you’re about it.”
There was a long pause.
“Well,” she said cheerfully, at last. “Let’s not quarrel, Lawrence! Shall we have breakfast?”
“A little less of the martyr, if you don’t mind. I suppose it’s as refreshing as a Turkish bath, isn’t it, to feel that you’ve given up all for duty?”
“But I don’t like it!” he cried, suddenly, in a voice that startled her. “Your renunciations and your nobilities and your resignations, and all the rest of your bag of tricks, nauseate me. I don’t really believe I can stand you any more.”
He lumbered over to the window and threw it open. Rosaleen flung herself upon him in terror, imagining that he was going to throw himself out. But he pushed her away violently.