“Yes, yes,” she interrupted, “I understand; it’s you who can’t. Can’t? Won’t—won’t! I sometimes wonder if you’re a man or a mere machine?”
“If you knew how much you are hurting me, Marian, you’d know how much of a man I am. Don’t you think I’ve seen how discontented you are, but you wouldn’t take my advice; you wouldn’t try to do what I know would make you happy. You’re—you’re so selfish; you criticise everything by whether it brings happiness to you. You have everything that I have, and could share everything with me, and be quite content and happy. But you do nothing; you keep outside my life and won’t let me help you.”
“I’ve heard all this before! What’s the use of preaching to me? Keep your sermons for those who agree with you. You’ve talked like this at me till I’m sick of hearing you.”
“Why not do as I ask you—work?”
“Why should I work?” she asked fiercely.
“Is it really you, Marian? I thought you so different.”
“I was different when you married me; I was a baby then, an ignorant fool of a girl. I’ve grown into a woman, but you haven’t noticed it.”
“A woman has more heart——”
“Copy-book platitudes won’t help us.”
“Don’t you love me?” he asked, straining eagerly toward her for the reply.