He went close to her then, threat in every line of his big frame.
“You’re my wife—the mother of my children.”
“Yes—that’s all.”
“All?”
[336]
] “I bore your name, I bore your children. I gave up the stage to do both. And in giving it up, I sacrificed your love.”
Her back was turned but out of the shadows of her triple mirror gazed a face white with pity of him, with suffering for the thing which, through him, both had lost.
“Sacrificed my love?” he began as a man feels his way along paths he is not sure of. “What in heaven’s name gave you that idea?”
“Please,” she stopped him with a swift gesture, “please—don’t speak of it! I can’t bear it!”
“Look here, Nancy,” came somewhat more calmly, “this is nonsense—silly woman stuff. I’m not saying you didn’t think you had some rational excuse for doing this thing. But it’s out of the question. It simply can’t continue. I made that clear when I married you. Boredom or restlessness or the sort of unreasoning mood that gets hold of women probably drove you to it.”
“You drove me to it,” she answered quietly.