"Is a woman to give up the amusements of social life--the little conventional pleasantnesses of society--because she happens to have lent a too trusting ear, and yielded to the man who wanted to marry her? Does she grow plain and old and stupid from the day she becomes a wife? Is she no more to find pleasure in being liked and admired? Life is not over when she comes back from church: she is still as human as she was before--wants a little of the diversions she has learnt to like, and needs a continuance of the devotion her suitor taught her to expect. You are hideously jealous, Gilbert. You should have been born a Turk, with a harem built out in the back-yard, beside the chicken-house, to lock up your wife in." It was the first time she had used his name. Gilbert noted it and took courage. "You know you wanted me to be jealous when you took up with that ninny--and you wanted to tease his wife. You succeeded. She thought you had stolen her husband's affection--or what represents it, in him--and she was not going to submit quietly to the robbery. She thought to make reprisals, and so laid siege to your husband in return. I am not sure but she got the revenge she wanted. You cannot deny that you were absurdly jealous." "Absurdly? Yes; laugh at me! I deserve it for allowing you to address me. You consider me a fool. You have said as much before, and you said other things as well, which were even worse. You insulted me with suspicion, and used expressions as if I were improper. You know you did! Bertie Roe!... You never loved me really, I do believe--not as you made me expect you would--not as a girl should be loved, who gives up her life and everything to be married to a man. You behaved like a barbarian! Deny it if you dare!" "I do deny it, Rose. Could I stand by and see you play the fool with a contemptible duffer, before the eyes of all Chicago?--see people in ball-rooms and theatres follow you with their eyes, nudge each other, and exchange glances, and shrug, as if to say, 'another young wife taking the turn downhill'?" "You are insulting!--but I might have expected it. 'Cruelty and desertion' were the words in the decree." "I dare you to lay your hand upon your heart and say that I was cruel. I merely remonstrated--and then you scolded.... You know you did, Rose. You made home unbearable. I had to leave the house." "You outraged my feelings. Was I to accept your insinuations of improper conduct as a polite compliment, or an everyday commonplace of domestic conversation?... You did not strike me, I admit--the man in you would restrain you from that; but you did worse!--the things you said." "Could I see people taking away your character by a shrug without giving you warning? Could I tell you about it, as something amusing and to your credit?" "It was yourself who goaded me on to do whatever I did. And then to insult and desert me!"