Whom God Hath Joined: A Question of Marriage — David Hume — John Shaqi
Whom God Hath Joined: A Question of Marriage
David Hume · en
All the time he was pleading, she listened to him without any sign of
emotion, her face looking impassable as a marble mask, but at the
conclusion of his speech, she withdrew her hand from his with a cold
smile of disbelief, which showed how little his tenderness affected
her.
"Your explanation would satisfy the world," she said with chilly
dignity, "but it does not satisfy me. I cannot believe that you forgot
about my refusal to receive Mrs. Veilsturm. Even if you did forget,
that only makes your conduct worse, for you still went to visit her
after you recollected the affair, as you acknowledge yourself. I have
been a good wife to you, I have been a good mother to your child, and
in return you have not even given me the common fidelity of a husband,
which every woman has a right to expect."
"I see it is no use pleading to a cold piece of perfection like you,"
said Guy, drawing himself up with dignity. "I have stooped to explain
this affair, and you decline to believe me. I can do no more. You are
convinced, without the shadow of a reason, that I am vile, and it is
impossible for me to undeceive you further than I have done. Under
these circumstances it is impossible for us to live together as man
and wife. You doubt me, and I resent your doing so, therefore it will
be best for us to at once make some arrangement about our future
lives."
He spoke calmly enough, but his heart was hot with indignation, that
he should receive such treatment from the woman he loved best on
earth. He was innocent, and he knew himself to be innocent, therefore
all his nature rose in revolt against the unjust attitude taken up by
his wife.
She, on her side, was also indignant, deeming that his explanation was
false from beginning to end, so she refused to forgive him, or to
believe the skilful tissue of falsehoods he had put forward as a plea
for her mercy.
It was a case of misunderstanding on both sides, and as the stubborn
pride of each refused to bend, nothing was now left but separation.
"For the sake of the child," she said coldly, "I am unwilling there
should be any scandal, so it will be best for me to stay down here to
look after the boy, and you can take up your abode in London, or
wherever else it pleases you. Regarding money matters, I presume you
will allow me sufficient to live on in a style befitting the mistress
of this place. My life will be devoted to bringing up the child,
yours--well, I have nothing to do with that, and you are free to act
as you desire. These are the only terms upon which I will consent to
pass over the matter, and I think there is nothing more to be said."