"You loved me then—or didn't you?"
"Perhaps. Calf-love, moon-love, flimsy stuff that couldn't stand the years. We should not have tried to keep it up."
"I told you so, beforehand."
"I stuck to it, at least. You were running away—to another man."
"No woman could wish to stay with you. You can't do things; something rotten always gives way in you at the critical moment. One can't even lean on you, because you sway, sway and totter."... Quick revenge this, on Gareth, who had pointed out her humiliation. She went on: "Other men have passed you, again and again; young men, men with energy, men with genius. You've got left behind—you, weak on the chest, weak in the knees, weak everywhere. And you're always there, that's the worst of you—always there. Why shouldn't I have tried to leave you? You have brought me nothing, not even the right to be proud of you. It must be wonderful for a woman to be proud of her man's strength."
And quivering from the stripes her tongue inflicted, he stammered in answer to the final word of abuse.
"But I stopped you to-night—I stopped you——" Then hadn't he even here shown a man's strength? Had he botched this triumph as well? The child in him wailed its disappointment.
"You stopped me, yes," she gave a hard little laugh; "but not because you sent the cab away, my friend, so don't you believe it." And lest she might ever have to hear a repetition of his insinuation that she had "forced things through," Kathleen added: "I don't think to-night need be mentioned again, between us two."
"But——"
Maggie, the general servant, tapped at the door and entered, in Sunday hat and jacket.