"Yes, by Heaven, you are right," he cried, quite beside himself, "you are more than perverse!"
"I told you so before; it is my character."
"Gertrude," he began, "I am easily aroused, and nothing angers me so much as passive opposition. It is our duty to have trust in one another--tell me what troubles you; it can be explained. I am conscious of no wrong done to you."
"That is a matter of opinion," said she.
"Very well. I declare to you that I am not in the least curious--and I give you time to reconsider."
He turned to go.
"That is certainly the most convenient thing to do in this matter," she retorted, bitterly.
He hesitated, but he went nevertheless, closed the broken door behind him as well as he could and began to walk up and down his room.
She pressed her forehead against the window-pane and gazed out into the garden. It had stopped raining; the clouds were lifting in the west and displaying gleams of the setting sun. Then the heavy masses of fog broke away and at the same moment the landscape blazed out in brilliant sunshine like a beautiful woman laughing through her tears.
If she could only weep! They who have a capacity for tears are favored. Weeping makes the heart light, the mood softer--but there were no tears for her.