“But you are my wife. What does it matter?”
“Wife—bah!” she replied, in intense disgust. “We have parted, and you have no claim whatever upon me. By what right, pray, have you followed me here? Cannot I carry out this hateful work without your detestable companionship?”
“But I assist you,” he urged. “Besides, I—I sometimes think, Vera, that we might accomplish much better work if we combined our efforts.”
“With you—never,” she replied angrily. “It is true that I married you, but we have never lived together—and never shall.”
“Do you forget that I once saved you from death?”
“Was not that a husband’s duty?” she asked, adding, “I cannot stay longer; my hostess will miss me.”
“But you shall remain and hear my proposal. I intend that you shall return to Russia, and live with me.”
“Indeed? Then I may at once tell you, Paul Krivenko, that I hate you; that I would rather die than be your cat’s-paw,” and she laughed scornfully.
“You!—you speak like that to me!” he cried in rage. “I—I’ll kill you!”