nothing from you; but a woman--she's secretive and petty, she always
keeps her secrets; the million little things she won't tell, the little
secrets that mean so much to her--and a man wastes his life in loving
such a woman, and is bitter when he finds he's given all for nothing!"

His heavy tramping went on.

"Is that the way you feel about it?" she asked.

"Yes!" he cried. "I'm infinitely more lonely than when I married you!
Look here; I came to you, and in six months' time you knew a thousand
things you had no right to know, unless you, too, were willing to come
as close! But I'm _damned_ if I know the first thing about
you--sometimes you are one thing, sometimes another. I never know where
to find you!"

"And I am to blame that we are unhappy? Of course you live in a way to
make any woman perfectly happy--you are never at fault there!"

"You never really loved me!"

"Didn't I?" she sighed with vague emotion.

"No."

"Then why did I marry you, Marsh?"

"Heaven knows--I don't!"

"Then why did you marry _me_?" She gave him a fleeting smile.