“Dare you—dare you do that?” he stammered.
“Dare I? What courage is needed? How dare I remain with a man I hate?”
“You must leave him. Of course you must leave him.”
“Oh, before another day has passed!” sobbed Monica. “It is wrong even to go back to-day. I love you, and in that there is nothing to be ashamed of; but what bitter shame to be living with him, practising hypocrisy. He makes me hate myself as much as I hate him.”
“Has he behaved brutally to you, dearest?”
“I have nothing to accuse him of, except that he persuaded me to marry him—made me think that I could love him when I didn’t know what love meant. And now he wishes to get me away from all the people I know because he is jealous of every one. And how can I blame him? Hasn’t he cause for jealousy? I am deceiving him—I have deceived him for a long time, pretending to be a faithful wife when I have often wished that he might die and release me. It is I who am to blame. I ought to have left him. Every woman who thinks of her husband as I do ought to go away from him. It is base and wicked to stay there—pretending—deceiving—”
Bevis came towards her and took her in his arms.
“You love me?” she panted under his hot kisses. “You will take me away with you?”
“Yes, you shall come. We mustn’t travel together, but you shall come—when I am settled there—”
“Why can’t I go with you?”