She reproached him, pleading with her eyes, her voice. “Oh—don’t—don’t!” she cried. “Can’t you forgive me? Can’t you?”
“Not until you show yourself worthy of forgiveness. You belong to him as long as you accept his money.”
She came up to him, her hands outstretched. “Donald!” she cried. “That is what I want to talk to you about. I have been a very foolish woman. I have done things that I can never forgive myself for as long as I live. I am bitterly—bitterly—sorry. If it were not for our boy, I would go away, and never trouble you again. I have been a miserable fool, and I cannot blame you if you hate and despise me. I threw away everything that was dear to me for nothing—nothing! Now I know that it is your love and my boy’s that I want more than anything in the world. But, Donald, what has this money to do with what I have done? Will it make it any the less wrong, to give it up? If you are really willing to give me another chance, can’t you do it without bringing this question of money into the matter? Can’t you do it because I am sincerely, honestly repentant; because I love you, and want your love, your forgiveness so much—so very much?” She put her hand upon his arm, and there were tears in her eyes. “Donald, listen to me, please—won’t you?”
“If you had come here in the same poor things you wore before all this happened,” he said, turning coldly from her, “it would be easier for me to forget. What do you mean by flaunting this man’s money in my face, with your jewels—your finery?” He looked at her, and a feeling almost of disgust crept over him. “Can’t you see that everything about you reeks of him?”
“Oh, Donald,” she cried, “don’t be angry with me—please don’t. I didn’t think about my clothes—indeed, I didn’t.” She seemed unable to understand that it was not her clothes he objected to, but what they represented.
“You mean you did not think about my feelings. You never do think about the things that count.”
She turned away from him, sobbing. “Oh, don’t! How can you say such things to me? Isn’t it the repentance of my heart that counts?”
“If there were any real repentance in your heart,” he said, “you would put those things from you as though they were polluted.” He began to walk up and down the room, unable to contain his anger.
Edith saw that upon the one point—that of West’s money—he was inflexible. She looked up with an air of resignation. “Very well,” she said suddenly. “I will do as you ask. I will give up this money. I will never touch another penny of it as long as I live, but I want it put aside for Bobbie.”
“Never!” he cried angrily.