I can guess the rest. You say Gerald doesn't love me, you don't love your wife, and your wife doesn't love _you;_ but you forget one thing--that _I_ don't love you either.
Not now, but by-and-by. Margery, I would make you love me--I would teach you!
So, I'm to _learn_ to be unfaithful, is that it? As one learns music? No, Captain Sylvester! Suppose two people are so much in love that they can't help it, Heaven is their judge, not me. But to _begin_ to love when they _can_ help it--not to resist--to _teach_ themselves to love--that's where the wrong is, and there's no gainsaying it.
Because I love him, and I don't love you!
[_MARGERY'S back is towards GERALD, so that she doesn't see him; but SYLVESTER is facing him and sees him._
[_SYLVESTER hesitates a moment, then exit, C._
Against you, I do! Who are you to question him? Are your own hands clean?
You needn't be afraid. There'll be no scene; I've done with tears.
I mean, for ever. Gerald, I've had enough of half a home and only half a heart. I'm starving, withering, dying here with you! They love me there! Let me go back to them! Oh, what a world it is! To think that one can get the love of any man except the man one loves!
I know I haven't! what's the use of words? Do you think a woman doesn't know when she's not loved, or is? When you first said you loved me, down in the fields yonder, do you suppose you took me by surprise? You had no need to swear. I knew you loved me, just as certainly as I know now you don't!
No man's a scoundrel to the woman he loves. Ah, it was easy to forgive your loving me. But I'll do something that is not so easy. I will forgive you for _not_ loving me. It's been a struggle. For the last fortnight I haven't said a word, because I wasn't master of myself, and I didn't want to speak till I'd forgiven you. I wasn't listening, Gerald. Heaven knows I would have given all the world not to have heard a word; but when you spoke my name, I couldn't move. The ground seemed slipping underneath my feet, and all the happiness of all my life went out of it in those three words, "Margery's hopeless, hopeless!"
Yes, Margery _is_ hopeless. Every scrap of hope has gone out of her heart. I heard no more. It was enough. There was the end of all the world for me. [_GERALD groans._] But it was well I heard you. I should have gone blundering along, in my old madcap way, and perhaps not found it out till I had spoilt your life. It's well to know the truth; but, Gerald dear, why didn't you tell it me instead of her? Why didn't you tell me I was no companion? I would have gone away. But to pretend you loved me, when you didn't--to let me go on thinking you were happy, when all the time you were regretting your mistake--not to tell _me,_ and to tell someone else--oh, it was cruel, when I loved you so!