shallow, you don't think, you can't feel things that I think and feel. I have been getting over that. But I did think you were loyal—"
"I am loyal," she cried.
"And you think—Bah!—you poke my roses under the table!"
Another portentous silence. Ethel stirred and he turned his eyes to watch what she was about to do. She produced her handkerchief and began to wipe her dry eyes rapidly, first one and then the other. Then she began sobbing. "I'm . . . as loyal as you . . . anyhow," she said.
For a moment Lewisham was aghast. Then he perceived he must ignore that argument.
"I would have stood it—I would have stood anything if you had been loyal—if I could have been sure of you. I am a fool, I know, but I would have stood the interruption of my work, the loss of any hope of a Career, if I had been sure you were loyal. I . . . I cared for you a great deal."
He stopped. He had suddenly perceived the pathetic. He took refuge in anger.
"And you have deceived me! How long, how much, I don't care. You have deceived me. And I tell you"—he began to gesticulate—"I'm not so much your slave and fool as to stand that! No woman shall make me that sort of fool, whatever else— So far as I am concerned, this ends things.
