“Driveller! you make me loathe you! ‘My little fiery ways.’ ‘My little outbursts of temper,’ forsooth! How little do you understand me! You sting my soul to frenzy with your dotage, and then twaddle about liking my ‘_little outbursts of temper_,’ forsooth.” “Dotage! Yes! I really do suppose you consider it dotage!” “Yes! drivelling! idiotic! imbecile dotage!” “Yes! I do suppose you think it is! I am too old for you, Georgia—I know it, alas! too well, now that it is too late—and yet you did not raise the least objection to becoming my wife, Georgia.” “Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! _Objection!_ I was but fifteen years of age when you bribed me to your arms with a set of jewels, and a gold mounted work-box! I was a child, delighted with glittering toys! and fond, yes! _very_ fond of the grandfatherly old man that poured them into my lap! Did _that_ child-fondness deceive you?” “It did, it did! You were very fond of me when you were a child! Would to God I could have spell-bound you to that age, so you never could have grown older! Oh! I could find it in heart to shame my manhood, to shame my gray hairs and weep! I should not have married you, Georgia, child! I should not have sacrificed you to my selfish love—yet, no! It was _not_ selfish love! I wished your greatest good. I wished to surround you for life with all the means and appliances of happiness. I wished to lavish wealth upon you—ay, wealth of gold, and wealth of affection, too! I wished to give you a sumptuous home, splendid apparel, costly jewels, carriages, servants—all those things which women value so much, and scheme, and plot, and endeavor for so perseveringly! I wished to give them all to my darling, before she should have time to feel the need of them!” “Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!” bitterly laughed the girl. “Oh! do you know what women value more than gold and jewels, and dress, and carriages, and horses, and servants?—I’ll tell you—the ungalled, unfettered heart’s freedom!” “I know it! Oh! I know it! My love has destroyed your happiness. Oh, Georgia! did you never see a beautiful bird, and long to have it for your own, only to caress and pamper and pet it? Oh, Georgia! my child, my pet, my bird! that was the reason I wanted you! I wanted to cherish, and fondle, and make you happy!” “_Ah-h!_ And did _you_ never see such a bird as you spoke of, in spite of all the petting, and pampering, and fondlings, beat out its weary life against its prison bars and die?” “Don’t die, Georgia! Don’t die! Hope! Alas! I wished only to make you happy—I have failed! I have made you miserable!” “‘_Miserable_,’ ruined! despairing! desperate!” she cried, wildly wringing her hands.