"Damn it, give me time to get used to it. It's all fired queer to go off without any one caring, and come back to a deserted house. I'll probably get used to it, but give me time."
"Do you want me to give it up?"
"Are you tired of it already?"
"Do you really care to know how I feel about it?" Catherine's voice was low and tense. "I feel as if I'd escaped from solitary confinement. At hard labor, too! I feel as if I could hold up my head and breathe. And then, underneath, I feel you pulling at me, wresting me back. Oh, you say you don't mind, but——"
"Catherine, see here." Charles stood up and leaned toward her. "I—I haven't meant to be a hog. But a man has a kind of knock-out, to find he isn't enough, with his home and all. Here, let's forget it. I've had a hard week-end, and last week was a fright. That's all."
"It's not that you aren't enough." Catherine flung herself at that phrase. "You know about that! Any more than I'm not enough, for you. There's more to you than love, isn't there? Why isn't there more to me? If you'd only see——"
"The only thing that bothers me is the children. Now, take Letty——"
"But I have left them with Flora many times. I've had to. And they bump their heads when I'm home. That's not the point. It's your blaming me."
"All right!" Charles threw up his hands in a sweep of mocking surrender. "I won't say a word."
"I want you to say it, not hint it."