`` I 'm sick of plowing and milking cows , '' he said hotly . `` You mean that you are sick of a respectable life , '' sneered Isabella . `` Perhaps , '' said David , with a contemptuous shrug of his shoulders . `` Anyway , I 'm going . '' `` If you go on this voyage , David Spencer , you need never come back here , '' said Isabella resolutely . David had gone ; he did not believe that she meant it . Isabella believed that he did not care whether she meant it or not . David Spencer left behind him a woman , calm outwardly , inwardly a seething volcano of anger , wounded pride , and thwarted will . He found precisely the same woman when he came home , tanned , joyous , tamed for a while of his wanderlust , ready , with something of real affection , to go back to the farm fields and the stock-yard . Isabella met him at the door , smileless , cold-eyed , set-lipped . `` What do you want here ? '' she said , in the tone she was accustomed to use to tramps and Syrian peddlers . `` Want ! '' David 's surprise left him at a loss for words . `` Want ! Why , I -- I -- want my wife . I 've come home . '' `` This is not your home . I 'm no wife of yours . You made your choice when you went away , '' Isabella had replied .
Then she had gone XXXXX , shut the door , and locked it in his face .
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