“For God’s sake say something, can’t you,” she cried half-hysterically.
Goddard looked up gravely and laid down his pencil.
“What can I say to you, Lizzie?”
“Anything. Curse me, nag at me—anything; only don’t sit there as if I was the scum of the earth and you God Almighty.”
“Well, you have broken your promise once more. What else can I tell you? You can’t expect me to be pleased, and I see no good in cursing and nagging. So I hold my tongue.”
“I wish I was dead,” said Lizzie bitterly.
Goddard shrugged his shoulders. He had done his best according to his lights, and he had failed. Sometimes his heart echoed her wish.
“You have only yourself to thank,” he said.
“Have I? I’ve not got you to thank for anything. Oh dear, no! You know you hate me. You never did care for me. Even when we was first married you cared for your dirty old politics more than you did for me. Oh, why didn’t I marry Joe Forster? He has three big shops now, and can hold up his head as much as you can, for all you’re a County Councillor and have your name in the newspapers. And what good does that do to me, I’d like to know? It’s all your fault, every bit your fault, and you drive me to it; you know you do, and you’d be glad if I dropped down dead now.”
It was not a new story. Her words had no longer power to move him to anger. He accepted her grimly as a burden he had to bear through life.