Eustacia that he did not care much about
social failure; and the proud fair woman bowed her head and wept in
sick despair at thought of the blasting effect upon her own life of
that mood and condition in him. Then she came forward.

"I would starve rather than do it!" she exclaimed vehemently. "And
you can sing! I will go and live with my grandfather again!"

"Eustacia! I did not see you, though I noticed something moving," he
said gently. He came forward, pulled off his huge leather glove, and
took her hand. "Why do you speak in such a strange way? It is only a
little old song which struck my fancy when I was in Paris, and now
just applies to my life with you. Has your love for me all died,
then, because my appearance is no longer that of a fine gentleman?"

"Dearest, you must not question me unpleasantly, or it may make me
not love you."

"Do you believe it possible that I would run the risk of doing that?"

"Well, you follow out your own ideas, and won't give in to mine when
I wish you to leave off this shameful labour. Is there anything you
dislike in me that you act so contrarily to my wishes? I am your
wife, and why will you not listen? Yes, I am your wife indeed!"

"I know what that tone means."

"What tone?"

"The tone in which you said, 'Your wife indeed.' It meant, 'Your wife,
worse luck.'"

"It is hard in you to probe me with that remark. A woman may have
reason, though she is not without heart, and if I felt 'worse luck,'
it was no ignoble feeling--it was only too natural. There, you see
that at any rate I do not attempt untruths. Do you remember how,
before we were married, I warned you that I had not good wifely
qualities?"

"You mock me to say that now. On that point at least the only noble
course would be to hold your tongue, for you are still queen of me,
Eustacia, though I may no longer be king of you."

"You are my husband. Does not that content you?"

"Not unless you are my wife without regret."

"I cannot answer you. I remember saying that I should be a serious
matter on your hands."

"Yes, I saw that."

"Then you were too quick to see! No true lover would have seen any
such thing; you are too severe upon me, Clym--I don't like your
speaking so at all."

"Well, I married you in spite of it, and don't regret doing so. How
cold you seem this afternoon! and yet I used to think there never was
a warmer heart than yours."

"Yes, I fear we are cooling--I see it as well as you," she