"Ah, how can you say that to me now?" said Mrs. Bloodgood, pressing her handkerchief to her eyes.
"Because the world is different from the world of this morning—because everything is different, Elise. There are no longer the reasons that existed. You are alone against the world. You know your husband—one public word or action, and he will cast you off like an old shoe."
"How can I go back?" she said, sitting down, half subdued. "How can I get the strength? I don't know yet what has happened. I can't realize it—oh, if I had only had my way! If he had only let me leave a month—two months ago. If I'd only been firm; if we had gone that night—that night we were here—when I begged him to. If he had only loved me more than his honor, as I loved him. If only I—"
"Elise," said the quiet voice of Mrs. Kildair.
The young woman checked herself, breaking off and moving again; but almost immediately broke out again:
"And now you want me to go back to him. Oh, if you knew how I hate him, how I loathe him—what that life means—how cruel he can be, how he can make me suffer by a word or a look—how he enjoys—"
"Elise, Elise!"
"I can't go, Rita, I can't! Don't ask me to go now. Let me stay a while here, just tonight, where I can weep," she cried.
"No, no. It must be now—soon. You have left your home with your trunks—he knows it. If you return—you return because you are worried—the panic—on his account."
"Ah, what a lie!"