"You know you don't, John; that is enough."
"But if I tell you I do?"
"That is just what you never do tell me; that is what makes me so miserable."
"Am I unkind to you? What have I done that you complain of?"
"You don't tell me every day that you love me."
"Bless me! You are not expecting me to repeat that over every day? Is not once enough for all? Did I not prove it beyond all words by marrying you?"
"I never expected our honeymoon to wane. If you calculated to settle down at once into sober old married people, I did not, nor will I. I wish we had never got married, and always stayed lovers; that was ever so much nicer. Don't you say your Ave Maria every day?"
"I do," answered John, "or rather I used to," failing to perceive what connection this question could have with the subject.
"Well, then, why do you do that? Why don't you say it once for all and have done with it, as you say of your love for me? But no, all your devotion must be given to a woman that lived thousands of years ago! You think more of her picture than of your own wife! This is what one gets by marrying a Catholic!"
Juliet's temper was fast overcoming her grief.