"How dare you call me a cheat?"
Her eyes were blazing. She had clenched her fists; and, trembling with passion, she came to the table and faced her husband.
"What have you ever given me in exchange for all I gave you—except shame and sorrow?"
"I'm not going to listen to your yelling and—"
"I gave you my love, and you trampled on it—I gave you my home, and you polluted it—I gave you the work of my life, and you pulled it to pieces before my eyes. Yet still I was true and loyal to you. I could have divorced you, and I wouldn't do it. I promised you that I'd hold to you till you yourself consented to set me free; and I kept my promise. You were a liar—but I respected your words. You were a thief—but I dealt with you as if you had been an honest man. I fed and clothed you when you were well, I nursed you when you were sick—I hid your crimes, I sheltered you from their consequences. At this minute I am keeping you out of the prison that is your only proper place.... And yet—great God—he has the audacity to say that I am cheating him!"
And then Mrs. Marsden, shaking in excitement and anger, went back to her chair and sat down.
"You asked for that," said Collins, with renewed facetiousness, "and you got it."
Bence was looking out of the window; and he whistled and gently clapped his hands, as if applauding the passionate force of Mrs. Marsden's unexpected tirade.
"I don't know what she means," said Marsden hoarsely. "And I dare say she doesn't know, herself." He had been staggered by his wife's attack; and at her last words he recoiled from the table, as if suddenly daunted, almost cowed. Now he was pulling himself together again. "Who cares what a woman says?" And he cleared his throat, and spoke loudly and defiantly. "I don't, for one."
"Richard," murmured Mrs. Marsden, in a still tremulous voice. "I'm sorry I said it."