"Cease playing the spoilt child," said Thurston, wearily. "Last night's performance can never be repeated under my roof—never shall be. You can tell your own story. Paint me the brutal husband—the tyrant. I shall not contradict you. I am resolved upon one thing—to leave England." He stared hopelessly into the fire again, leaning his forehead on the mantel.
"I suppose it's no use—asking you—to—forgive me," she said, watching him sharply. He turned quickly, and she dropped her eyes. "If—if there won't be a repetition," she continued, her lips quivering like those of a child on the verge of tears.
"You cannot change your nature," he replied, coldly, not allowing himself to believe in the sincerity of this contrition.
"I will have love to help me."
"No, and that's why you're very wrong in being so hard with me. I was good, wasn't I? For three months and then, when the folks rushed down on me, like a river breaking a dam, I broke out—that's all." She raised her arms, with a long, despairing sigh. "Thurston, if you will go away, may I stay with your mother?"
"Indiana, you don't know how I suffer—you cannot. As long as all the love is on my side, my wishes will be commands to you; my plans for your welfare and happiness—domination. There should be no such question between a man and wife who love each other. It could not have ended otherwise. A union without the sacred seal of love—is cursed." He went from her to the door, terribly agitated, wishing they could part finally, then and there, in order to spare himself the further torture of looking at Indiana with the thought that he had renounced her.
"Thurston, you'll shake hands with me—won't you?" she asked, imploringly, a look of terror dawning in her eyes. He extended his hand, with averted gaze. Indiana grasped it quickly, then held it for dear life. "You shall listen to me," she pleaded, in a voice vibrating with intense emotion, her breast heaving, her eyes dilating, until they looked almost black under the yellow hair. "I won't let you go until you've heard it. All my life I've queened it over people, delighting to feel my own power—to make the poor things who loved me bend to my will. Last night I saw the horror in your face when you turned from me—leaving me alone with my uncontrolled, undisciplined nature. Thurston, how could you expect me to be different? It wouldn't be natural if I were. I wanted to queen it over my husband—to be put up on a pedestal and worshipped. I thought it was enough if I let him love me—but I never knew it was better to love than to be loved, to serve than to be served." She looked into his face with piteous eyes, and said, in a low, frightened voice, "Thurston, take my two hands—hold them fast—while I step down from my throne—and then, when we stand together, side by side, I can whisper in your ear—I never could up there—that I love you."
"Indiana, for God's sake, don't play with me again!" he cried, passionately.
She drew his head down to her and kissed him. "Thurston, husband," she murmured, in a low, wondering voice, "I love you better than myself."