The other
afternoon I came home sick--with my head. I was on the gallery
outside when you were pleading with him, and I heard it all. You
talked that night about Taboga, your guilty kisses and other
things; you acknowledged everything. But he was growing tired of
you. That, you know, makes it all the more effective." He smiled
in an agonized fury.
"You--cur!" she cried, with the fury of one beating barehanded at
a barred door. "You had no right to do such a thing even if I were
guilty."
"Right? Aren't you my wife?"
The look she gave him was heavy with loathing. "That means nothing
with us. I never loved you, and you know it. You know, too, why I
married you. I made no secret of it at the time. You had what I
wanted, and I had what you wanted; but you were content with the
bargain because I gave you money, position, and power. I never
promised anything more than that. I made you into something like a
man. You never could have succeeded without me. All you have is
due to me--even your reputation in the service. Your success, your
influence, it is all mine, and the only thing you gave me was a
name; any other would have done as well."
He shrank a little under this tirade, despite his exaltation.
"Marriage!" she continued, in bitter scorn.
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