“Carry out your intention,” I said. “Insult me.”
His hand dropped.
“Insult me,” I repeated; “it is one way out of the unendurable situation in which we are placed. You may trust me to challenge you. Duels are still fought on the Continent; I will follow you abroad; I will choose pistols; I will take care that we fight on the fatal foreign system; and I will purposely miss you. Make her what I intended her to be—my rich widow.”
He looked at me attentively.
“Is that your refuge?” he asked, scornfully. “No! I won’t help you to commit suicide.”
God forgive me! I was possessed by a spirit of reckless despair; I did my best to provoke him.
“Reconsider your decision,” I said; “and remember—you tried to commit suicide yourself.”
He turned quickly to the door, as if he distrusted his own powers of self-control.
“I wish to speak to Susan,” he said, keeping his back turned on me.
“You will find her in the library.”