Perhaps the bitterest thing that he said
to his wife for a long period after their
marriage was the following chain of
sentences, delivered more in depression
than reproach:
"Well, Georgina, I suppose there's
no use of my asking you to sponge off
the slate and begin all over again. You
probably think some things arc there
which no sponge could wipo out. And
upon my word, if you were to say so, I
should quite agrco with you. Only, '
they're not all marks of my making,
neaven knows." I
"Heaveni" she repeated. "What a
strange word from your lips, Egbertl
Do you believe in one?"
" Who is so devout," he answered, "not
sometimes to find such a laitn very
hard?"
"Oh. I won't listen to abominable
thoughts like those!" cried Georgina,
hurrying toward the door. She paused
before quitting the room, and hurled
forth angrily at her husband: "As if
any better proof of Heaven's goodness
were wanted, Egbert Maynard, than
that you're permitted to stand there
and insult it without being struck,
dead."
"What conceivable satisfaction would
there be for it in striking me dead," began
Mayuard, "if, asyoubtate " But
she had lied from his profane presence,
and bo he left tho sentence unfinished.
