"You're so sure everything you do is right! No matter how it affects me!"
"You do things I don't like—Barclay, for instance."
"That was a matter—I felt I had to do it—I felt it was right—"
"Well, you must allow me to judge what is right for me. I shall never do what I think wrong."
"What you think! You don't think it wrong then to disturb me by your actions, not to give me your confidence—"
"Confidence?" said Mary haughtily. "I will tell you anything you want to know. I haven't anything to conceal. But you simply don't understand my feelings, certain things I care about that you don't care about—"
"That's it! You take it for granted I can't understand.... I don't want you to have friendships apart from me!"
Mary stood still, looking down, her eyes hidden by the long drooping lids that gave her face a look of passionless calm, inflexible, immovable.
"Do you hear?" cried Laurence.
He knew, even while he could not master his agitation, that it put him in the wrong, that it gave her the advantage. But he could not bear opposition from her. To know that they were not completely united, completely one in feeling, was a torment to him.