"Which point?"
"There were many points we discussed."
"The point—when you were generous enough to offer to start our life afresh."
Rivière looked keenly at his wife. Her eyes were downcast, as though it hurt her modesty to have to make overtures. There was a faint blush on her cheeks.
He began to feel he had been a brute.
She continued: "You ought to have given me a day to think it over, instead of rushing away as you did. You ought to have known that a woman's pride won't let her yield without being pressed to yield. I wanted you to press me; I wanted to make a fresh start with you; I wanted to help you with your big work! Clifford when will you learn to read a woman?"
"What's your suggestion now?" he asked.
"My suggestion is your own—to wipe out the past, and start our married life afresh. A few days ago I went to see a doctor—a man in Cavendish Square who has a big reputation for women's ailments. Father insisted on my going to consult him, and he was right. I ought to have gone to him months ago."
"What did he tell you?"