the colour rising to her cheeks. She shook her head.
"Not to be drawn that way," she said. "Besides, I don't really bully him—I nag him."
"And what is the difference, please? To be nagged is to be bullied—it's the worst kind of torment. No man can resist it—no man! He will sell his soul to get rid of the sound of that voice, forever going on, forever"
Ernesto switched off the tops of a clump of fern with his stick.
"Yes, I suppose it is pretty bad," said Teresa meditatively. "But I daresay you get out of a good deal of it by deceit."
"Deceit? But one must deceive! Can one tell the truth to one's wife? Not to a woman like Nina, at any rate—she has no idea of the world, and she is religious. And remember this—'il faut la tromper, parceque'lle n'est pas de celles qu'on quitte."
Again the keen glance, again Teresa's rising colour answered. He had a diabolical sharpness, this simple man! And the phrase had struck her deeply.
"I am not of that sort," she said in a low voice.
"Of what sort—the sort one doesn't leave? Oh, but you are—absolutely. And therefore 'il faut vous tromper.'"
