"I've been a wicked woman myself as these things are measured; but . . ."
Father Consett said:
"Ye have! It's no doubt from you she gets it, for your husband was a good man. But one wicked woman is enough for my contemplation at a time. I'm no St. Anthony. . . . The young man says he will take her back?"
"On conditions," Miss Satterthwaite said. "He is coming here to have an interview."
The priest said:
"Heaven knows, Mrs. Satterthwaite, there are times when to a poor priest the rule of the Church as regards marriage seems bitter hard and he almost doubts her inscrutable wisdom. He doesn't mind you. But at times I wish that that young man would take what advantage—it's all there is!—that he can of being a Protestant and divorce Sylvia. For I tell you, there are bitter things to see amongst my flock over there . . ." He made a vague gesture towards the infinite. . . . "And bitter things I've seen, for the heart of man is a wicked place. But never a bitterer than this young man's lot."
"As you say," Mrs. Satterthwaite said, "my husband was a good man. I hated him, but that was as much my fault as his. More! And the only reason I don't wish Christopher to divorce Sylvia is that it would bring disgrace on my husband's name. At the same time, Father . . ."
The priest said:
"I've heard near enough."
"There's this to be said for Sylvia," Mrs. Satterthwaite went on. "There are times when a woman hates a man—as Sylvia hates her husband. . . . I tell you I've walked behind a man's back and nearly screamed because of the desire to put my nails into the veins of his neck. It was a fascination. And it's worse with Sylvia. It's a natural antipathy."