“By heaven!” he cried. “You tempt me to strike you. So you would leave me, would you? What do you suppose will become of you and the children without my protection? ... You’ve lived with me for eight years,—you’ve had everything I could give you; and in a moment of beastly jealousy you talk as lightly of leaving me as though I were nothing to you. What are you going to do if you leave my protection?”
“I earned my own living before I met you,” she answered.
“You hadn’t the children then,” he reminded her.
“No,” Pamela admitted, and her eyes filled with tears.
“Don’t you think they have a right to be considered?” he demanded. “You are not so damned selfish as to deny that, I imagine. If you leave my home, you ruin their future.”
He was quick to see his advantage. He did not wish her to take the step she threatened. Social ostracism in two countries was rather much for a man, who has passed his youth, to face complacently. He had come to a time of life when the comforts of a home are indispensable; knocking about the world, even if accompanied by a mistress, did not appeal to his fastidiousness. Her threat had taken him by surprise; he had not considered this possibility; it found him unprepared. He pressed his point more insistently.
“You’ve got to consider them,” he persisted. “If things leak out it will be beastly awkward for them when they are older. You’ve no right to make them suffer. You’ve no right to force poverty on them as well as disgrace. And it will be poverty. If you leave me, I will do nothing for you, nor for them.”
At that she turned her face and regarded him fixedly.
“If I leave you,” she said, “I wouldn’t desire you to do anything for me,—but I can compel you to provide for the children.”
He stared at her. He apprehended her meaning fully, and his face went a dull red.