“I? Never! If I had not met you I should have married no one. My love isn’t a bauble that I am willing to give to whomever chance throws in my way. My heart is one and indivisible; it would be impossible for me to love any one but you.... When I think that to you I’m nothing more than any other woman might be, I’m ashamed.” “You do talk the most awful rot sometimes.” “Ah, that summarises your whole opinion. To you I’m merely a fool of a woman. I’m a domestic animal, a little more companionable than a dog, but on the whole, not so useful as a cow.” “I don’t know what you want me to do more than I actually do. You can’t expect me to be kissing and cuddling all the time. The honeymoon is meant for that, and a man who goes on honeymooning all his life, is an ass.” “Ah yes, with you love is kept out of sight all day, while you are occupied with the serious affairs of life, such as shearing sheep or hunting foxes; and after dinner it arises in your bosom, especially if you’ve had good things to eat, and is indistinguishable from the process of digestion. But for me love is everything, the cause and reason of life. Without love I should be non-existent.” “Well, you may love me,” said Edward, “but, by Jove, you’ve got a jolly funny way of showing it.... But as far as I’m concerned, if you’ll tell me what you want me to do, I’ll try and do it.” “Oh, how can I tell you?” she cried, impatiently. “I do everything I can to make you love me and I can’t. If you’re a stock and a stone, how can I teach you to be the passionate lover? I want you to love me as I love you.” “Well, if you ask me for my opinion I should say it was rather a good job I don’t. Why, the furniture would be smashed up in a week, if I were as violent as you.” “I shouldn’t mind if you were violent if you loved me,” replied Bertha, taking his remark with vehement seriousness. “I shouldn’t care if you beat me; I should not mind how much you hurt me, if you did it because you loved me.” “I think a week of it would about sicken you of that sort of love, my dear.” “Anything would be preferable to your indifference.” “But God bless my soul, I’m not indifferent. Any one would think I didn’t care for you--or was gone on some other woman.” “I almost wish you were,” answered Bertha. “If you loved any one at all, I might have some hope of gaining your affection--but you’re incapable of love.” “I don’t know about that. I can say truly that after God and my honour, I treasure nothing in the world so much as you.” “You’ve forgotten your hunter,” cried Bertha, scornfully. “No, I haven’t,” answered Edward, with a certain gravity. “What do you think I care for a position like that? You acknowledge that I am third--I would as soon be nowhere.” “I could not love you half so much, loved I not honour more,” misquoted Edward.