"But it isn't fair."
"I can't help that I can stand it very well when people say things against me, but I could not stand it at all if people said things against you; so I am acting from purely selfish motives when I say that the secret must always be kept for my sake."
"But, Paul, how can I show my gratitude to you, and my penitence?"
"Simply by doing what I ask, and by giving no one any excuse for finding fault with my wife."
"It was a horrid book," said Isabel sadly.
"I know it was, dear heart, but you did not mean a word of it, you know."
"I wrote it in a temper—a vile, hateful, disgusting temper."
"I know you did; but the world might not understand this as well as I do, and therefore might misjudge you; and the world shall not have the chance."
"I really was frightfully angry with you," said Isabel, now revelling in the contemplation of dangers past, "I used to rack my brains for things that I could write to vex you."
"When did you begin to love me again?" queried Paul.