“Yes, no doubt; if you’re not his one idea yourself, you find him dull. And when you were my only idea, you still wanted more—always wanted more—more than you had of everything but trouble; and now you’ve brewed that for yourself. And what d’you mean, when you say you’ve ruined his life as well as mine?” Medora enjoyed the lash of his scornful voice. “You’ll kill me if you speak so harsh,” she said. “I meant—I meant—I don’t know what I meant. Only it’s clear to me that I shan’t make him the wife he thinks I shall.” “That’s true for once. You’re no wife for any man. And as for him, he don’t want a flesh and blood woman for his partner, and if you hadn’t thrown yourself at his head, like a street-walker, he’d never have taken you. The shamelessness—the plotting—the lies. When you grasp hold of what you’ve done, you ought to want to drown yourself.” “I may do it sooner than you think for,” she answered. “Rub it in—I deserve it; but don’t fancy I’m not being paid worse coin than any word of yours. I’m only a woman—not much more than a girl, you may say; and I’ve done you bitter wrong, but there’s always two sides to everything, and justice will be done to me—in fact, it’s begun. You say Kellock never wanted a flesh and blood woman, and that’s true—truer than you know. So you can see what my future’s going to be. Once you’re free, you can find a better and prettier and wiser creature than me to-morrow; but I’m done for to the end of my life. He’s much too good for me—I know that—so were you—far too good; but there it is. I’m done for—down and out, as you would say. He’ll go and live in a town presently. Think of me in a town!” “Sorry for yourself always—and never for nobody else.” “I’m sorry for everybody that ever I was born. I don’t want to bring any more trouble on people; and very like, I may find the best way is to drop into the water some night, and let the river carry my poor dust out to sea.” “You haven’t the pluck to do that,” he said. “Anyway, you belong to him now, and have got to play the game and stick to him.” They argued for some time, the man minatory and harsh, the woman resigned. But once he amused her. Then Ned harked back to her threat. “You talk of being down on your luck, and suicide, and all that twaddle. But you never looked better in your life. You’re bursting with health.” “I’m not,” she cried indignantly. “You’ve no right to say it. And if I am, what about you? You’re a lot fatter and handsomer than ever you was in my time.” “That’s a lie,” he said, “and you needn’t think I’m made of stone, though you are.”