He dropped his arms helplessly, standing before her, looking at her bewildered, as though struggling to shake himself free from some oppressive dream. “Selfish again,” she said. “Your punishment! What about mine? You’ve often preached that there is no real happiness in life but to do your duty. Haven’t you done yours?” “I can’t have.... What can I do?” “Free me from this existence. Go away from here; somewhere there is life——” “You know I can’t leave my work.” “Others can do it.” “If we all said that? You know I can’t leave my appointed work.” Marian sat down and beat with her clenched fists upon the table. “Can’t you see anyone’s life but your own?” she exclaimed fiercely. “You make me loathe you when you talk that way. Can’t you be a bit practical? Don’t you understand that things can’t go on like this? That you’re killing me? You’ve no pluck; I believe you’d be quite content to live all your life in these dingy lodgings. You say you love me——” “I do—I do——” “And won’t do a thing to make me happy! We can’t go on living together like this. Can we? Don’t you see we can’t?” “What do you mean?” “That something must be done to change it.” “Wait, wait, let me think!” he said, tramping about the room; “let me think, let me think. No, Marian, I can’t go away; I must stop here and go on with my work. You see, dear, you’ve never really tried my way; if you worked hard all day like I do you’d have no time to be unhappy.” “Why should I _work_?” “Why shouldn’t you? That’s what we all have to do. And there’s so much work. You don’t know, I didn’t like to tell you, how it handicaps me, people knowing that you do nothing to help me. How can I urge them on when my wife does nothing? Then—what is it you want?” “If I told you, oh! I know what you’d say. The same old sermons—the things I do want wouldn’t make me happy, the things I don’t would. You’ve made up your mind what I ought to do and you _are_ so certain you’re right.” “It’s not what _I_ think——” “Yes, yes, it _is_ what you think; what others believe is right when you agree with them. I don’t agree with you. Your beliefs don’t make me happy.” He sat down opposite her and began idly tracing with his finger the pattern on the shabby green cloth. She waited, wondering what he would say. So far there had been little more than a repetition of previous scenes between them. At last, after what seemed to her an interminable silence, he said— “Don’t you see how you are breaking my heart? I believed you loved me. You deceived me. Then—do you think my work is easy to me? Don’t you know I would like to give you everything you want? But I can’t leave my work, and you—you do nothing to help me.” “How can I when I think you’re all wrong?” “Wrong in what way?” “In everything. You preach about a merciful, just God! Is there any mercy or justice in allowing people to be born to live the life you are working to save them from? Nonsense!” “Do you know what you’re saying?” “Quite well.”