“I did not know,” she whispered.
“Good God!” he cried. “Why do you imagine I married you?”
The indelicacy of his obtuseness angered her.
“Ah—why?” she said through her teeth.
He appeared overcome with horror, and watched her lips intently as though in fear.
“I imagined many things,” she said, slowly, and paused. He watched, holding his breath. At last she went on musingly, as if thinking aloud, “I tried to understand. I tried honestly. . . . Why? . . . To do the usual thing—I suppose. . . . To please yourself.”
He walked away smartly, and when he came back, close to her, he had a flushed face.
“You seemed pretty well pleased, too—at the time,” he hissed, with scathing fury. “I needn’t ask whether you loved me.”
“I know now I was perfectly incapable of such a thing,” she said, calmly, “If I had, perhaps you would not have married me.”
“It’s very clear I would not have done it if I had known you—as I know you now.”