“But suppose he knew that she loved ease and pleasure?—that he feared her anger or disdain if he did not minister to her luxuries?”
“Then he ought not to have married that kind of a woman.” The hardness in her voice was matched at that moment by the coldness of her face.
“That is begging the question,” I replied. “What would such a selfish woman do in such a case, if her pleasure could not be gratified?”
“You must ask that kind of woman,” was her ironical answer.
I rashly felt that her castle of strength was crumbling. I ventured farther.
“I have done so.”
She turned slightly toward me, yet not nervously, as I had expected.
“What did she say?”
“She declined to answer directly.”
There was a pause, in which I felt her eyes searching my face. I fear I must have learned dissimulation well; for, after a minute, I looked at her, and saw, from the absence of any curious anxiety, that I had betrayed nothing. She looked me straight in the eyes and said: “Dr. Marmion, a man must not expect to be forgiven, who has brought shame on a woman.”