He imagined that she was really gone--that in some way or another he had really lost her, and that everything in the room was standing just as she had left it, and as it would stand unmoved, undusted for ever.
"I have deserved it," he muttered; and a cold perspiration came out upon his forehead.

"Have I treated her in such a way that I have any right to expect her to care for me?
Is it not just my own folly that is to blame?
She was right--more than right.

I have behaved shamefully to her, suspiciously, and tyrannically--invariably, unceasingly; and now I may sit here long enough and repent it, to no purpose.

She would not be what she is if she tamely submitted to such treatment." He dwelt upon this last thought until the scales seemed to drop from his eyes, and, acknowledging the truth at last, he broke out with bitter scorn against himself-- "The fact is, in my cursed pride I have never been able to bear the thought that she might have been better off--that I was not good enough for her, not fit for her; that is what has been at the bottom of it all: and as I would not acknowledge that, I have insisted always to myself that I could not trust her.
"Do I really believe this ?" he asked himself then slowly, and fell into thought again, his face growing darker and darker every minute.
"What a good-natured booby, fool, idiot, I am!" he cried, with a scornful laugh.

"No, it is she who has been false and untruthful, she who must acknowledge it, she who is bound to give me, once for all, full explanation.