She replied, more restrainedly: "I've never met anybody who's altered so much as you have in the last six months. You've sunk lower and lower—in every way, until now—everybody hates you. You're simply a ruin."
Still quietly he said: "Yes, that's true." And then watching to see the effect that his words had upon her, he added: "Clare said so."
"What!" she screamed, frenzied again. "Yes, she knows! She knows how she's ruined you! She knows better than anybody! And she taunted you with it! How I loathe her!"
"And me too, eh?"
She made no answer.
Then, more quietly than ever, he said: "Yes, Clare knows what a failure I've been and how low I've sunk. But she doesn't think it's due to her, and neither do I."
He would not say more than that. He wondered if she would perceive the subtle innuendo which he half-meant and half did not mean; which he would not absolutely deny, and yet would not positively affirm; which he was prepared to hint, but only vaguely, because he was not perfectly sure himself.
Whether or not she did perceive it he was not able to discover. She was silent for some while and then said: "Well, I repeat what I said—I'm going to leave you so that you can get a divorce."
He shrugged his shoulders.
"You can leave me if you wish, but I shall not get a divorce."