The woman pleased him, but he did n't love her; and he displeased her, but she loved him. In Delilah's heart was so much aching love for him, such depth of passion, that at times she was ashamed. It seemed to her that she had given everything in her to this man. No matter how displeased she was, no matter how humiliated by his boastings, by his circus tricks, when night came, and he put out his hand to her, all the irritation of the day passed, and her being sang. She had chosen her husband, and what she had chosen was her own business. No matter how queer he was, she could n't have him laughed at.... So they stayed away, and she was glad of it and little by little the great wonder of her marriage provoked no more passion, no more discussion. Only when a stranger appeared, or some old friend, and asked in the public assemblies of Delilah, and the incongruous marriage was once more brought up and discussed. Shoulders shrugged. "And is she happy?" "We don't know. We don't see much of her any more." A new strange element came up in this isolation: Samson did n't like being left alone by the Philistines. Somewhere in his mind arose the theory that it was a new insult, a new harm. He grew short with his wife; became irritable; nothing pleased him. He was not a farmer, a warrior he! he complained. He was entitled to relaxation, amusement, conversation. He was no vegetable-- "Then, Samson, you would like people here?" He did n't like to be left alone, as though he had the plague, or treated as though he were nobody, by God! "Then they shall come, Samson." But ah! there was something, he objected. He did n't like this damned superciliousness, this accursed Philistine superiority-- "You imagine it, Samson. You are too sensitive, my big lover." "Then they are not superior? are not better than I?" "Of course not, great Samson. In every way you are as good as they, the same as they. You would look the same as they, only better-looking, more magnificent, if only--" "If only what?" "Oh, don't be angry with me, lover, if I tell you. There is only one thing remarkable about you; one thing they can criticize. If only your hair--" "Ha! my hair!" "O Lover, without it, you would look so great and splendid, and dignified. There would be nothing to criticize." "But Delilah, my strength is in my hair." "O lover, lover, don't be silly!" "Also, my parents took a vow--" "But darling, your parents never knew you were to be such a great man, and that you would have to command respect from the nation--" "Of course, of course. But, Delilah, if my strength goes--" "Dearest, it won't go. How could it?" "And they won't have anything to criticize then! Ha! Then off it comes!"