“Don’t attempt to reason with me, please, please!”
“I command, madam.”
“My lord, it is past the hour of commanding.”
He nodded his head, with the eyes up amid the puckered brows, and blowing one of his long nasal expirations, cried, “Here we are, in for another bout of argument.”
“No; I can bear the journey, rejoice in confessing my fault, but more argument I cannot bear. I will reason with you when I can: submit to me in this.”
“Feminine reasoning!” he interjected.
“I have nothing better to offer. It will be prudent to attend to me. Take my conduct for the portion I bring you. Before I put myself in God’s care I must be clean. I am unclean. Language like that offends you. I have no better. My reasoning has not touched you; I am helpless, except in this determination that my contrition shall be expressed to Dr. Shrapnel. If I am to have life, to be worthy of living and being a mother, it must be done. Now, my dear lord, see that, and submit. You’re but one voice: I am two.”
He jumped off his chair, frowning up his forehead, and staring awfully at the insulting prospect. “An apology to the man? By you? Away with it.”
“Make allowances for me if you can, my dear lord that is what I am going to do.”
“My wife going there?” He strode along furiously. “No!”