I find now that what I mistook for love was just the opposite.

I believe that I hate you.

No--no, Bertie, not that, it cannot be that, only----Oh, I know now that it is not hate for you that I feel--it is hate for myself, hate for the creature who is hateful enough to stand between you and the happiness which you have earned by patience, by constancy, by self-control.

Yes, I hate the creature who is idiotic enough to put honor between us, to put religion between us, to put her soul's salvation between us." "Ella, Ella, why will you not trust me ?" he said, when she had flung herself into a chair.

He was standing over her with his hands clasped behind him.