"Prudie tells me you met Elizabeth at the church today," Demelza said in a strained voice, kneading a mound of white bread dough. Ross watched her carefully from the door he had just come through. Demelza raised the dough in the air and then slammed it viciously back down onto the table. "An' also she do say you kissed Elizabeth."

Ross took off his tri-cornered hat and hung it by the door. His expression was already sour. His movements were rough, and so was his voice when he spoke: "Prudie is a blind liar wishing only to stir up trouble, for a reason that is best known to herself and God. Yes, I kissed Elizabeth on the cheek – in greeting, but did it go further than that? No, it did not. I cannot believe that you would believe Prudie over your own husband."

Demelza gave him a pitiful look that failed to reach him. "But I must confess, I – I do believe her, Ross."

Ross glared at her. "Do you trust me so little?"

Demelza stuttered for a second, at a loss. Drying bread dough caked her hands. "I do trust you, Ross! But you so often give me cause to think again of that trust!"

She bit her lip then, and patted the mound into a rounded shape while Ross watched broodily. "Sometimes I – I wish you had just married her in the first place and had done with it."

"Sometimes I wish that too," Ross said coldly.

"Then we are in agreement for once," Demelza said, without looking up.

Ross scoffed. He had not intended for this argument to gain such strength and bitterness, but now that it had he was powerless to stop it. "What a marvel."

There was a moment of tense silence. Demelza broke it.

"Why're you doing this, Ross?" she asked, sounding strung out and tired now, the fight gone out of her. She had abandoned the bread, and stood with her hands braced against the table and her head hanging. "Why'd you wed me at all if you would so soon regret it? It don't – it don't seem fair to me."

Ross gritted his teeth and walked further into the room, seizing the bottle of whiskey on his way. He pointed the neck of it at her accusingly. "Why did I wed you? You say it as though in doing so I did you a grave injustice. Perhaps I wed you because it was the honourable thing to do at the time. Has that thought not crossed your mind? But of course, I could have been wrong to do it. Would you have preferred it if I left you alone and unmarried, with no virtue or prospects or chance of a better future? Rotting away in Illuggan with your grubby pack of motherless brothers, the lot of you getting beaten by your drunken lout of a father? Tell me honestly, Demelza, would you be happier today?"

Demelza's face had coloured somewhat while he was talking, but now her cheeks were a pale chalky white and her eyes were very wide and shiny. When she spoke her voice was hard and of a higher pitch than usual. "No, Ross, of course I wouldn't be," she snapped. "You're right, as usual."

Scowling, Ross poured himself a drink. "One would think I was never right, what with the distinct lack of gratitude I get around here."

Demelza laughed mirthlessly, gazing bitterly down at the mound of dough. "Gratitude. Oh, I'm grateful for what you done for me, Ross, yes, but that's not enough, it never has been. No, no. My real failin' is I'm not Elizabeth, and I never will be."

Ross drained his glass swiftly, and slammed it down on the tabletop. He looked moodily at the bottle, obviously considering pouring himself another. "That is correct."

Demelza stared at him silently for a moment, Ross meeting her gaze steadily.

Then Garrick barked outside, and she looked away sharply, distracted.

The moment, as long as it had been in the coming as it had been and as short as it had been in the escalation with which it had gained heat and bad will, was now over.