wife. And I now give them up—I don't reproach you—I only ask you to let me give them up in my own way. Have I not borne it well? Everything is to be taken away from me, and when I ask for a straw, a chip—you deny it me." She had spoken rapidly, but after a little pause she said more slowly, her voice freed from its muffled tone: "I will not bear to have it denied me."
Grandcourt had a baffling sense that he had to deal with something like madness; he could only govern by giving way. The servant came to say the fly was ready. When the door was shut again, Grandcourt said, sullenly, "We are going to Ryelands, then."
"They shall be delivered to her there," said Lydia, with decision.
"Very well, I am going." He felt no inclination even to take her hand: she had annoyed him too sorely. But now that she had gained her point, she was prepared to humble herself that she might propitiate him.
"Forgive me; I will never vex you again," she said, with beseeching looks. Her inward voice said distinctly—'It is only I who have to forgive.' Yet she was obliged to ask forgiveness.
"You had better keep that promise. You have made me feel uncommonly ill with your folly,"
