"That woman has been here," was her slow, scornful response.
"Selma, I—" A confusing sense of hopelessness as to what to say choked Babcock's attempt to articulate. There was a brief silence, while he looked at her imploringly and miserably.
"Is it true what she says? Have you been false to your marriage vows? Have you committed adultery?"
"My God! Selma, you don't understand."
"It is an easy question to answer, yes or no?"
"I forgot myself, Selma. I was drunk and crazy. I ask your pardon."
She shook her head coldly. "I shall have nothing more to do with you. I cannot live with you any longer."
"Not live with me?"
"Would you live with me if it were I who had forgotten myself?"
"I think I would, Selma. You don't understand. I was a brute. I have been wretched ever since. But it was a slip—an accident. I drank too much, and it happened. I love you, Selma, with all my heart. I have never been false to you in my affection."