ble yourself any longer, to feign the love you cannot feel: I will exact no more heartless caresses from you—nor offer—nor endure them either—I will not be mocked with the empty husk of conjugal endearments, when you have given the substance to another!"
"Very good—if you please. We shall see who will tire first, my lady."
"If I tire, it will be of living in the world with you; not of living without your mockery of love. When you tire of your sinful ways, and show yourself truly repentant, I will forgive you—and, perhaps, try to love you again, though that will be hard indeed."
"Humph!—and meantime, you will go and talk me over to Mrs. Hargrave, and write long letters to aunt Maxwell to complain of the wicked wretch you have married?"
"I shall complain to no one. Hitherto, I have struggled hard to hide your vices from every eye, and invest you with virtues you never possessed—but now you must look to yourself."
