A tremor of passion went through her.  His passivity was not to be borne.  In some curious fashion it hurt her.  She felt as though she were beating and bruising herself against bars of iron.

“Surely,” she said, and her voice shook in spite of her utmost effort to control it—­“surely you must see that you are asking of me more than I can possibly give.  I own that I am—­nominally—­your wife, but I realize now that I can never be anything more to you than that.  I cannot go away with you.  I can never make my home with you.  I married you upon impulse.  I did you a great wrong, but you will admit that you hurried me into it.  And now that—­that my eyes are open, I find that I cannot go on.  Would it—­would it—­” She was faltering under that unchanging gaze, but she compelled herself to utter the question—­“be quite impossible to—­to get a separation?”

“Quite,” said Piet.

He did not raise his voice, but she shrank at the brief word, shrank uncontrollably as if he had struck her.

He went on quite steadily, but his eyes gave her no rest.  They seemed to her to gleam red in the glancing firelight.

“I do not admit that our marriage was a mistake.  I was always aware that you married me for my money.  But on the other hand I was willing to pay your price.  I wanted you.  And—­I want you still.  Nothing will alter that fact.  I am sorry if you think you have made a bad bargain, for you will have to abide by it.  Perhaps some day you will change your mind again.  But it is not my habit to change mine.  That is, I think, all that need be said upon the subject.”

There was not the faintest hint of vehemence in his tone, but there was unmistakable authority.  Having spoken, he stood grimly waiting for her next move.

As for Nan, a sudden fury entered into her that possessed her more completely than any fear.  To be thus mastered in a few curt sentences was more than her wild spirit would endure.  Without an instant’s hesitation she flung down the gauntlet.

“It is true,” she said, speaking quickly, “that I married you for your money, but since you knew that, you were as much to blame as I. Had I known then what sort of man you were, I would sooner have gone into the workhouse.  I am quite aware that it is thanks to you that my father is not a ruined man, but I—­I protest against being made the price for your benefits.  I will never touch another penny of your money myself, and neither shall any of my family if I can prevent it.  As to abiding by my bargain, I refuse absolutely and unconditionally.  I do not acknowledge your authority over me.  I will be no man’s slave, and—­and, sooner than live with you as your wife, I—­I will die in a ditch!”

Furiously she flung the words at him, too much carried away by her own madness to note their effect upon him, too angry to see the sudden, leaping flame in his eyes; too utterly reckless to realize that fire kindles fire.