“Relations very easily made, and still more easily affected,” he replied. “Come, Bertha, there is no use in quarrelling over points of law. Past is past, as Leonora says. If I have wronged you anything I am sorry. I’ve tried to make amends; and though many a fellow would have been tired out long ago, I continue to give you proofs that I am not.”
“That is a sort of benevolence,” she said, in her own language, “which may as well be voluntary, for if it be not, the magistrates will compel it.”
“The magistrates are neither fools nor tyrants. You’ll make nothing of the magistrates. You have no rights, and you know it.”
“An odd country where a wife has no rights.”
“Come, Bertha, there is no use in picking a quarrel. While you take me quietly you have your share, and a good deal more. You used to be reasonable.”
“A reasonable wife, I suppose, gives up her position, her character, her prospects, whenever it answers her husband to sacrifice these trifles for his villainous pleasures. Your English wives must be meek souls indeed if they like it. I don’t hear they are such lambs though.”
“I’m not going to argue law points, as I said before. Lawyers are the proper persons to do that. You used to be reasonable, Bertha—where’s the good in pushing things to extremes?”
“What a gentle creature you are,” she laughed, “and how persuasive!”
“I’m a quiet fellow enough, I believe, as men go, but I’m not persuasive, and I know it. I wish I were.”
“Those whom you have persuaded once are not likely to be persuaded again. Your persuasions are not always lucky. Are they?”