"Well, I'm sick to death of the subject," she retorted impatiently. "The question is, what do you intend to do with the will now you've got it?"
"Why, what do you think I'd do with it? There is only one thing that I or anyone else with a spark of honour," he looked at her very searchingly, "could do with it—take it to Rosary Mansions this evening, and lay it before both of them."
"John!—you are not serious? I implore you don't do that. Consider what it means. Consider me. It is not fair to me. I was not meant to be a poor man's wife."
"You are not fit to be any decent man's wife; but as you are, and I can't descend to your moral level, you must rise to mine, that's all."
"If you do this you shall pay for it," she said. She was losing all self-control and becoming perfectly reckless in the face of what threatened her. "I am your wife now. I married you for this money—the day you lose it, you lose me—understand."
He seized her arm somewhat roughly and looked at her hard.
"And you understand this, young woman, I will be a party to no crime at your bidding. I will be no partner with you in iniquity. To restore this money is the honest course, the only course, and the course that I shall take without any delay. As for you, while you are my wife, poor or rich, you will respect my name!"
"While I am your wife—if you go on the way you are going I warn you that will not be for long."
"What do you mean?"
"That you'll know quick enough once it's done. For the last time I ask you to pause, consider, compromise!—I don't ask you to do anything dishonourable, but make some arrangement, don't give up everything. By your own showing it will ruin Gerald; think of him, think of her—of Miriam. Think of the awful unhappiness it means for her. John! I will try and be different to you if you will only wait."