"But what does he mean by calling you a wanton? —you, my wife?" Enschede's hand slipped from his daughter's shoulder. Bah. What could I do at home? The other’s a crumple-up—just surrender. How long he sat there, reeling off this drivel, he never knew. It's fine with me if it's fine with Cathy, darlin’. I don’t think they do matter. But supposing he is? Supposing he made but one misstep? Your island would be a haven of security. What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. "He shan't trouble you further. He was now as civil as he had just been insolent.
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