Well, if there is--Of course I suppose it happens to
all married people--"
"What happens?"
"Why, they find one another out a little. Things aren't quite as they
thought they'd be. That must happen always."
"But tell me--tell me the things in me that have disappointed you and then
I can alter--"
"Well--it's a little as you say. You have been rather rude to Mother. And
then--your quarrel--"
"What! You mean with Cards!"
"With--Jerry--yes. And then," her voice was high and sharp now--her eyes
avoided his--"I've always--been happy, until _I_ married. Things frighten
me. You don't understand me, Peter, how easily I'm frightened--you never
seemed to see that. Other people--know."
"I've been selfish--I--"
"Yes," she went on still in that high voice, "and you never consider me in
little things. And you laugh at me as though I were stupid. I don't suppose
it's all your fault. You were brought up--roughly. But you _are_ rough. You
hurt me often. I can't bear," her lip was trembling and she was nearly
crying--"I can't bear being unhappy--"
"My God!" cried Peter, "what a beast I am! What a brute I've been!"
"Yes--and you never seemed to think that I minded poor little Stephen's
death--the dear little thing--of course it hurt me dreadfully--and you
never thought of _me_--"
"It's all going to be different now.
Pages:
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572
573
574
575
576
577
578
579
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587
588