"I care about it because I like definiteness," he said.
"Definiteness is not in the form but the love," she said, more
and more irritated, not by his words, but by the tone of cool
composure in which he spoke. "What do you want it for?"
"My God! love again," he thought, frowning.
"Oh, you know what for; for your sake and your children's in the
"There won't be children in the future."
"That's a great pity," he said.
"You want it for the children's sake, but you don't think of me?"
she said, quite forgetting or not having heard that he had said,
"for your sake and the children's."
The question of the possibility of having children had long been
a subject of dispute and irritation to her. His desire to have
children she interpreted as a proof he did not prize her beauty.
"Oh, I said: for your sake. Above all for your sake," he
repeated, frowning as though in pain, "because I am certain that
the greater part of your irritability comes from the
indefiniteness of the position."
"Yes, now he has laid aside all pretense, and all his cold hatred
for me is apparent," she thought, not hearing his words, but
watching with terror the cold, cruel judge who looked mocking her
out of his eyes.
"The cause is not that," she said, "and, indeed, I don't see how
the cause of my irritability, as you call it, can be that I am
completely in your power. What indefiniteness is there in the
position? on the contrary..."
"I am very sorry that you don't care to understand," he
interrupted, obstinately anxious to give utterance to his
thought. "The indefiniteness consists in your imagining that I