My vanity was being sacrified.

Here was a woman passionately in love with me proposing to throw herself into another man's arms--it made not a scrap of difference, in the circumstances, that the man was her husband--and into the arms of such a man! Having known me to decline--etcetera, etcetera! How could she face it?
And why was she doing it?
To save herself from me, or me from herself?
She knew perfectly well that the little pain inside would precious soon settle that question.

Why was she doing it?
I should have thought that the first glance at the puffy reprobate would have been enough to show her the folly of her idea.

However, it was comforting to learn that she had not surrendered at once.
"If I am to have the privilege, Monsieur," said I, "of acting as a family council, perhaps you may forgive my hinting at some of the conditions that doubtless are in Madame's mind." "Proceed, Monsieur," said he.
"I want to know where I am," said Lola in English.

"He took everything for granted from the first." "Are you willing to go back to him ?" I asked also in English.
She met my gaze steadily, and I saw a woman's needless pain at the back of her eyes.