“And to desert me when I have sacrificed everything for you.  I have incurred enormous expenses; alienated my friends; risked my position in society; and broken my mother’s heart for your sake.”

“But for that I would have left you before.  I am very sorry.”

“You have heard something in that letter which makes you hope that your husband will take you back.  Not a woman in London will speak to you.”

“I tell you I am not going back.  Oh, Sholto, dont be so mean.  Can we not part with dignity?  We have made a mistake.  Let us acknowledge it quietly, and go our several ways.”

“I will not be got rid of so easily as you suppose,” he said, his face darkening menacingly.  “Do you think I believe in your going out alone from this hotel and living by yourself in a strange city?  Come! who is it?”

“Who is——?  What do you mean?”

“What new connexion have you formed?  You were very anxious about our ship returning the other day—­anxious about the mails, of course.  Perhaps also about the surgeon.”

“I understand.  You think I am leaving you to go to some other man.  I will tell you now the true reason.”

“Do,” said he, sarcastically, biting his lip.

“I will.  I am leaving you because, instead of loving you, as I foolishly thought I could, I neither respect nor even like you.  You are utterly selfish and narrow-minded; and I deserve my disappointment for having deserted for your sake a far better man.  I am sorry you have sacrificed so much for me; but if you had been worthy of a woman’s regard, you would not have lost me.”

Douglas stared at her. “I selfish and narrow-minded!” he said, with the calm of stupefaction.

“Yes.”

“I may have been narrow-minded in devoting myself so entirely to you,” said he slowly, after a pause.  “But, though I do not ask for gratitude, I think I have been sufficiently a loser to disregard such a monstrous assertion as that I am selfish.”

“You show your selfishness by dwelling on what you have lost.  You never think of what I have lost.  I make no profession of unselfishness.  I am suffering for my folly and egoism; and I deserve to suffer.”

“In what way, pray, are you suffering?  You came here because you had a wretched home, and a husband who was glad to be rid of you.  You do what you like, and have what you like.  Name one solitary wish of yours that has not been silently gratified.”

“I do not find fault with you.  You have been generous in supplying me with luxuries such as money can obtain.  But it was not the want of money that made me fancy my home wretched.  It is not true that I can do as I like.  How many minutes is it since you threatened to cast me off if I did not make myself agreeable to you?  Can you boast of your generosity after taunting me with my dependence on you?”

“You misunderstood me, Marian.  I neither boasted, nor threatened, nor taunted.  I have even apologized for that moment’s irritation.  If you cannot forgive such a trifle, you yourself can have very little generosity.”