‘You called me “unsexed” to-night,’ she went on, never removing her steadfast gaze from his face. ‘Do you know what the word means? If not, I will tell you. It is to be like the women you admire!—to be like “La Marina,” who strips her body to the gaze of the public without either shame or regret; it is to be like Lady Brancewith, who flings her husband’s name and honour to the winds for any fool to mock at, and who in her high position is worse, yes, worse than “La Marina,” who at any rate is honest in so far that she admits her position and makes no pretence of being what she is not! But I,—what have _I_ done that you should call me “unsexed?”’ She paused, breathing quickly. ‘I didn’t say _you_ were “unsexed,”’ he stammered awkwardly. ‘I said clever women were, as a rule, unsexed.’ ‘Pardon me,’ she interrupted him coldly. ‘You said “women who write books, like my wife.” Those were your exact words. And, I repeat, what have I done to deserve them? Have I ever dishonoured your name? Have you not been the one thought, the one pride, the one love of my life? Has not every beat of my heart, together with every stroke of my pen, been for you and you only? While all the time to me you have played traitor—your very looks have been lies, you have deceived and destroyed all my most sacred beliefs and hopes; you have murdered me as thoroughly as if you had thrust a knife through my heart and hurled me down dead at your feet!’ Her voice vibrated with passion—strong, deeply-felt passion, unshaken by the weakness of sobs or tears. He made a step towards her. ‘Look here, Delicia,’ he said, ‘don’t let us have a scene! I have been a fool, I daresay—I am quite willing to admit it—but can’t you forget and forgive?’ And undeterred by the chill aversion in her face, he held out his arms. ‘Come, I am sure your own heart cannot tell you to be unkind to me! You do love me—’ ‘Love you!’ she cried, recoiling from him; ‘I hate you! Your very presence is hideous to my sight; and just as I once thought you the noblest of men, so I think you now the lowest, the meanest! You have been a fool, you say; oh, if you were only that! Only a fool! There are so many of them! Some of them such good fellows, too, in their folly. Fools there are in plenty who, nevertheless, do manage to preserve some cleanliness in their lives; who would not wrong a woman or insult her for the world—fools whom, mayhap, it might be good to love and to work for, and who at any rate are not cads or cowards!’ He started, and the colour leapt to his face in a shamed red, then died away, leaving him very pale. ‘Oh, if you are going to rant and scream—’ he began. She turned upon him with a regal air.