“I don’t know. I haven’t touched them.”
“Not touched them!” he exclaimed, aghast, and turning sharply to her. “Not touched them! You—knew they must be ready for to-night!”
“Yes, I knew.”
She stood up, let the blinds down, pulled to the curtains viciously, and then went over to the chimney-piece for the matches. She struck a light and turned up the gas, which blazed up into a shrieking flame, and, in turning it low, she turned it out. She lit the gas again, and then stood leaning against the table, watching his face of amazement.
“I don’t understand,” he said, looking at her with puzzled eyes. “You knew they must be done, and you haven’t touched them? You’re not ill?”
“No, quite well. It’s just this, Edward, this life is killing me; you must change it. I’ve done my best to stand it, but I can’t go on with it any longer.”
“Change it—change it! How can we change it, even if it was right to?”
“Right! Right! Right!” she repeated fiercely. “Who made you the judge of what is right for me? You’re my husband, but that doesn’t make you my judge. You live your own life, and I must live mine; and this life you try to make me lead is not mine. Stop!—listen to me first. You’re so blinded with self-satisfaction, so obstinately sure that you’re right, that you’ve forgotten all about me. I’ve become just a mere item in your existence, a part of yourself. You’ve forgotten that I’ve a self, or you couldn’t really believe that this life would satisfy me. I’m young. Am I to have no fun in life? No amusements, no gayety, no pleasure, no friends? Am I to go on living here, seeing nobody worth seeing, going nowhere, just drudging along in this dismal hole?”
She stopped, panting, and he broke in——
“I can’t listen to you, Marian. Do you understand what you’re saying?”