No. He never says anything--but I saw it in his eyes. [_Passionately clasping her hands._] Oh, you don't know what our life is. For days he doesn't say a word except to answer my questions. And the silence simply drives me mad. I shouldn't mind if he blackguarded me. I'd rather he hit me than simply look and look. I can see he's keeping himself in. He's said more to-day than he's ever said before. I knew it was getting towards the end. JOHN. [_With a helpless gesture._] I'm very sorry. JENNY. Oh, don't you pity me, too. I've had a great deal too much pity. I don't want it. Basil married me from pity. Oh, I wish he hadn't. I can't stand the unhappiness. JOHN. [_Gravely._] You know, Jenny, he's a man of honour. JENNY. Oh, I know he's a man of honour. I wish he had a little less of it. One doesn't want a lot of fine sentiments in married life. They don't work.... Oh, why couldn't I fall in love with a man of my own class? I should have been so much happier. I used to be so proud that Basil wasn't a clerk, or something in the City. He's right, we shall never be happy. JOHN. [_Trying to calm her._] Oh, yes, you will. You mustn't take things too seriously. JENNY. It isn't a matter of yesterday, or to-day, or to-morrow. I can't alter myself. He knew I wasn't a lady when he married me. My father had to bring up five children on two-ten a week. You can't expect a man to send his daughters to a boarding-school at Brighton on that, and have them finished in Paris.... He doesn't say a word when I do something or say something a lady wouldn't--but he purses up his lips, and looks.... Then I get so mad that I do things just to aggravate him. Sometimes I try to be vulgar. One learns a good deal in a bar in the City, and I know so well the things to say that'll make Basil curl up. I want to get a bit of revenge out of him sometimes, and I know exactly where he's raw and where I can hurt him. [_With a laugh of scorn._] You should see the way he looks when I don't eat properly, or when I call a man a Johnny. JOHN. [_Drily._] It opens up endless possibilities of domestic unhappiness. JENNY. Oh, I know it isn't fair to him, but I lose my head. I can't always be refined. Sometimes I can't help breaking out. I feel I must let myself go. JOHN. Why don't you separate, then? JENNY. Because I love him. Oh, John, you don't know how I love him. I'd do anything to make him happy. I'd give my life if he wanted it. Oh, I can't say it, but when I think of him my heart burns so that sometimes I can hardly breathe. I can never show him that he's all in the world to me; I try to make him love me, and I only make him hate me. What can I do to show him? Ah, if he only knew, I'm sure he'd not regret that he married me. I feel--I feel as if my heart was full of music, and yet something prevents me from ever bringing it out. JOHN. D'you think he means it seriously when he talks of separation? JENNY.