Nor do I know yet what my capabilities for evil are....

Do you care to--find out ?" "It wouldn't be a square deal to you, Rosalie." "And--if I don't care whether it's a square deal or not ?" "Why, dear," he said, covering her nervous, pretty hand with both of his, "I'd break your heart in a week." He laughed, dropped her fingers, stepped back to the door, and, laying his hand on the knob, said evenly: "That husband of yours is not the sort of man I particularly take to, but I believe he's about the average if you'd care to make him so." She coloured with surprise.

Then something in her scornful eyes inspired him with sudden intuition.
"As a matter of fact," he said lightly, "you care for him still." "I can very easily prove the contrary," she said, walking slowly up to him, close, closer, until the slight tremor of contact halted her and her soft, irregular breath touched his face.
"What a girl like you needs," he laughed, taking her into his arms, "is a man to hold her this way--every now and then, and"-- he kissed her--"tell her she is incomparable--which I cannot truthfully tell you, dear." He released her at arms' length.
"I don't know whose fault it is," he went on: "I don't know whether he still really cares for you in spite of his weak peregrinations to other shrines; but you still care for him.

And it's up to you to make him what he can be--the average husband.

There are only two kinds, Rosalie, the average and the bad." She looked straight into his eyes, but the deep, mantling colour belied her audacity.
"Do you know," she said, "that we haven't--lived together for two years ?" "I don't want to know such things," he said gently.
"Well, you do know now.