She lowered her veil, and stooped for her gloves. He looked up at her swift movement. There was a blueness round his lips.
"What are you going to do?"
She laughed.
"You're ... you're going to him! Louise!—you are NOT going to him?"
"Oh, you poor, crazy fool, what made you tell me?"
"Stay here!" He caught her by the sleeve. But she shook his hand off as though it were a poisonous insect. "For God's sake, think what you're doing! Have a little mercy on me!"
"Have you ever had mercy on me?"
She took a few, quick steps away from the seat, then with an equally impulsive resolve, came back and confronted him.
"You talk to me of mercy?—you!—when nothing I could wish you would be bad enough for you?—Oh, I never thought it would be possible to hate anyone as I hate you—you mean-souled, despicable dummy of a man!—Why couldn't you have let me alone? I didn't care that much for you—not THAT much! But you came, with your pretence of friendship, and your flattery, and your sympathy—it was all lies, every word of it! Do you think what has happened to us would ever have happened if you'd been a different kind of man?—But you have never had a clean thought of me—never! Do you suppose I haven't known what you were thinking and believing about me in these last weeks?—those nights when I waited night after night to see a light come back in his windows? Yes, and I let you believe it; I wanted you to; I was glad you did—glad to see you suffer. I wish you were dead!—Do you see that river? Go and throw yourself into it. I'll stand here and watch you sink, and laugh when I see you drowning.—Oh, I hate you—hate you! I shall hate you to my last hour!"
She spat on the ground at his feet. Before he could raise his head, she was gone.