Chapter II: Part 2

[_Without waiting for the movement._] I’m sorry you did that, Grace. I’ve got nothing to say to him.

GRACE.

[_To_ MRS. INSOLEY.] Do you know that Claude has threatened to dismiss Gann if Peggy hasn’t gone by ten o’clock to-night?

MRS. INSOLEY.

For once in his life Claude has acted with spirit. He gave Gann twenty-four hours to think it over. My father would have given him fifteen minutes.

GRACE.

Why was it all kept from me? It seems that everybody knew but me.

CLAUDE.

Hang it all, Grace, I wanted to tell you last night and you wouldn’t let me.

GRACE.

[_Startled._] Oh! Was it that? I didn’t know.... Claude, I want you to be very kind and forgive that wretched girl. I want you to tell Gann that she needn’t go.

CLAUDE.

[_Quite firmly._] My dear, I can’t do that. I’ve made up my mind and I must stick to it.

GRACE.

Why?

CLAUDE.

Hang it all, what would happen to the discipline of the estate if I were always shilly-shallying? Every one in the place knows that when I say a thing I mean it. It’s an enormous advantage to all concerned.

GRACE.

[_With a coaxing smile._] It wouldn’t do any harm if you made an exception just this once.

CLAUDE.

It’s a matter of upholding my authority. Gann refused to do what I told him, and I had to threaten him with immediate dismissal. I couldn’t eat my words now without looking a perfect fool.

GRACE.

Don’t you think it’s awfully unjust to send a girl away because she’s got into trouble?

CLAUDE.

It’s a rule of the estate. I didn’t make it.

GRACE.

[_Turning to_ MISS VERNON.] Helen, you’re a woman. You must see how cruel it is. Can’t _you_ say something to help me?

MISS VERNON.

I don’t know what else one’s to do. After all, we have the same rule at Foley.

CLAUDE.

They have it on half the large estates in the kingdom. It’s absolutely essential if one has any regard for decency.

MISS VERNON.

I don’t suppose it would be so common, and it certainly wouldn’t have lasted so long, if there hadn’t been some good in it.

GRACE.

[_Violently._] Oh, it’s maddening. Always, always, there’s that stone wall in front of me. Whatever is, is good. However cruel and unjust a custom is, no one must touch it because it’s a custom. If a law is infamous, does it become any less infamous because people have suffered from it for a dozen generations?

MRS. INSOLEY.

Perhaps you’re not very competent to judge matters of this sort, my dear.

ARCHIBALD.

I’m afraid your sympathy is rather wasted in this particular case. Peggy Gann isn’t a very deserving young woman.

GRACE.

If she were, there’d be no need for me to plead for her.

MRS. INSOLEY.

On those lines the more of a hussy a girl is the more she’s deserving of sympathy.

GRACE.

[_To_ ARCHIBALD.] You had nothing against her till this happened.

ARCHIBALD.

Nothing very definite. She was always rather cheeky, and she never came to Sunday-school very regularly.

GRACE.

Is that all?

MRS. INSOLEY.

My own belief is that the Ganns are really Dissenters.

GRACE.

[_Impatiently._] Good heavens, they positively revel in going to church.

MRS. INSOLEY.

That may be or it may not. But they give _me_ the impression of chapel people.

ARCHIBALD.

Heaven knows, I don’t want to seem hard and unsympathetic, but after all, you’re not going to keep people moral if you pamper those who aren’t.

GRACE.

And what d’you think’ll happen to her if you make her leave here?

ARCHIBALD.

We’ll do our best for her. It’s not a pleasant position for any of us, Grace. I’ve been wretched about the whole thing, and I’m sure Claude has too.

CLAUDE.

Of course I have. But hang it all, in our position we can’t afford to think of sentiment. Especially now that they’re attacking us all round we’ve got to show them that we can keep a firm hand on the reins.

ARCHIBALD.

Do us the justice to see that we’re really trying to do what’s right. It may be very wrong that we should be in our particular positions, and we may be quite unworthy of them. But we didn’t make society, and we’re not responsible for its inequalities. We find ourselves in a certain station, and we have to act accordingly.

CLAUDE.

The long and the short of it is that it’s our duty to look after those whom Providence has placed in our charge. And it’s our duty to punish as well as to reward.

GRACE.

Oh, how hard you are! One would think you’d never done anything in your life that you regret. [_With increasing violence._] Oh, you virtuous people, I hate you. You’re never content till you see the sinner actually frizzling. As if hell were needed when every sin brings its own punishment! And you never make excuses. You don’t know how many temptations we resist for the one we fall to.

MISS VERNON.

Grace! What are you saying!

[GRACE, _almost beside herself, looks at her with haggard eyes.
Suddenly she gives a start, and stares at_ MISS VERNON _with
horror. She has realised that_ MISS VERNON _knows the relations
that have existed between her and_ HENRY COBBETT. _There is a
pause. The_ BUTLER _comes in_.

MOORE.

Gann and his daughter are here, sir.

CLAUDE.

Oh, yes, I’ll come at once.

MOORE.

Very good, sir.

[_He goes out._

MRS. INSOLEY.

Why shouldn’t he come here, Claude?

GRACE.

Yes, let him come by all means. And then you can see for yourselves.

ARCHIBALD.

I’ll tell Moore, shall I? [_He goes to the door as he says this and calls._] Moore. Tell Gann to come here.

MISS VERNON.

[_Rising._] I think I’ll leave you. This isn’t any business of mine. [_To_ MISS HALL.] Will you come with me?

MISS HALL.

Do you want me, Mrs. Insoley?

MRS. INSOLEY.

No. You’ve had no exercise to-day, Louisa. You’d better walk three times round the garden.

MISS HALL.

I’m not very well to-day, Mrs. Insoley.

MRS. INSOLEY.

Oh, nonsense! You’re in the best of health. And you can take the dog with you.

MISS HALL.

Very well, Mrs. Insoley.

[MISS VERNON _and_ MISS HALL _go out_.

MRS. INSOLEY.

Louisa’s very troublesome sometimes. She fancies she’s not feeling well. But she’s twenty-five years younger than I am, and I’ve never had a day’s illness in my life.

[MOORE _opens the door for_ GANN, _who comes into the room, cap in
hand, and stands at the door awkwardly. He is in his working
clothes._

CLAUDE.

Good afternoon, Gann.

GANN.

Good afternoon, sir. Peggy said you wished to see me, sir.

GRACE.

_I_ asked her to bring you here, Gann. I thought it would be better if you spoke to Mr. Insoley.

GANN.

I’ve got nothing to say to Mr. Insoley, ma’am.

CLAUDE.

I was hoping to find you in a more reasonable state of mind, Gann. You know, you can only hurt yourself by being pig-headed and stubborn.

GANN.

I didn’t know as how I was, sir.

CLAUDE.

[_To_ GRACE.] You see, the man doesn’t give me a chance.

GANN.

[_Making an effort on himself._] Please, Squire, I come to know if I’m really to go to-morrow? I know you said you’d send me away, Squire. But I couldn’t bring myself to believe you meant it.

CLAUDE.

I’m willing to listen to anything you’ve got to say. I want to be quite fair to you.

GANN.

If I could only make you see as what you ask ain’t possible, I’m sure you’d let us stay. There’s nowhere Peggy _can_ go to.

CLAUDE.

Hang it all, Mrs. Insoley’ll do all she can for her. You may be quite sure that Peggy shan’t want for money.

GANN.

It isn’t money the girl wants. If I send ’er away she’ll just go to the bad altogether.

CLAUDE.

You see, it’s a matter of principle, Gann. It would be devilish unjust to make an exception in your favour.

GANN.

[_Stepping forward with surly indignation and facing_ CLAUDE.] I love the girl and I can’t bear to part with ’er. She’s a good girl in her ’eart, only she’s had a misfortune.

CLAUDE.

That’s all very fine and large, Gann. But if she’d been a good girl, hang it all, she’d have had power to resist temptation.

GRACE.

[_Terrified._] Claude, you don’t know what you’re saying.

CLAUDE.

I don’t want to rub it in and all that sort of thing, but my own feeling is that if she came rather a cropper, it was because she was--if you don’t mind my saying so--because she was that way inclined. I don’t think anyone can accuse me of being a hard man, but I’m afraid I haven’t much pity for women who....

GRACE.

[_Interrupting._] Claude, don’t go on--for God’s sake.

GANN.

That’s your last word, Squire? If the girl don’t go, I must?

CLAUDE.

I’m afraid so.

GANN.

I’ve served you faithful, man and boy, for forty years. And I was born in that there cottage I live in now. If you turn us out where are we to go to? I’m getting on in years, and I shan’t find it easy to get another job. It’ll mean the work’us.

CLAUDE.

I’m very sorry. I can’t do anything for you. You’ve had your chance and you’ve refused to take it.

[GANN _turns his cap round nervously. His face is distorted with
agony. He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come, only an
inarticulate groan. He turns on his heel._

CLAUDE.

In consideration of your long service I’ll give you fifty pounds so that you can tide over the next few months.

GANN.

[_Violently._] You can keep your dirty money.

[_He goes out._ GRACE _goes up to_ CLAUDE _desperately_.

GRACE.

Oh, Claude, you can’t do it. You’ll break the man’s heart. Haven’t you any pity? Haven’t you any forgiveness?

CLAUDE.

It’s no good, Grace. I must stick to what I’ve said.

GRACE.

It’s not often I’ve begged you to do anything for me.

CLAUDE.

Well, hang it all, this is the first time I’ve ever refused.

GRACE.

[_Bitterly._] I suppose because I’ve never asked you for anything before that wasn’t absolutely trifling.

MRS. INSOLEY.

Why are you making such a point of it, Grace?

GRACE.

Is it very strange that I should feel sorry for anyone who’s in distress?

CLAUDE.

I’ll do anything in the world to please you, darling, but in this case you must trust to my better judgment.

GRACE.

How can you be so hard?

CLAUDE.

Come, Grace, don’t be angry with me. It’s bad enough as it is.

MRS. INSOLEY.

I have no patience with you, Claude. When your father made up his mind to do anything it was done, and it would never have occurred to me to oppose him.

ARCHIBALD.

[_With a twinkle in his eye._] You forget, mother, that was because you generally made up my father’s mind some time before he did.

GRACE.

[_To_ MRS. INSOLEY _and_ ARCHIBALD.] Will you leave me alone with Claude. I must talk to him alone.

ARCHIBALD.

Come, mother. Let me take you for a stroll three times round the garden.

[MRS. INSOLEY _and_ ARCHIBALD _go out_.

GRACE.

I couldn’t say it before them. They’d never understand. They’d only sneer. But can’t you see, Claude, that it’s out of the question to drive Gann away so callously? He loves the place just as much as you love it.... In my heart I seem to feel suddenly all that his shabby little cottage means to him--the woods and coverts and the meadows and the trees. His life is bound up with Kenyon. His roots are in the earth as if he were a growing thing. Can’t you see what it must mean to him to leave it?

CLAUDE.

He only goes because he’s headstrong and obstinate. He’s the Somersetshire peasant all over. You do your best for them and you get no gratitude. You try to reason with them, but you can’t get a single idea into their thick heads.

GRACE.

You can’t punish him because he’s stupid and dull. You’re throwing him upon the world in his old age. It means starvation.

CLAUDE.

You must know that I’m only doing it because I think it’s my duty.

GRACE.

[_Impatiently._] Oh, men always talk of their duty when they want to be odiously cruel.

CLAUDE.

Grace, how can you be so unkind to me?

GRACE.

Oh, Claude, if you love me at all, give in to me this time. You don’t know what it means to me. I’ve often been horrible to you, but I’m going to be different. I want to love you. I want to be more to you than I’ve ever been. Claude, I implore you to do what I ask you--just because I ask it, because you love me.

CLAUDE.

[_Withdrawing himself a little._] I could not love you, dear, so much, loved I not honour....

GRACE.

[_Interrupting passionately._] Oh, no, don’t, Claude; for God’s sake be sincere and natural. Can’t you forget that you’re a landed proprietor and a J.P. and all the rest of it, and remember that you’re only a man, as weak and as--as frail as the rest of us? You hope to be forgiven yourself, and you’re utterly pitiless.

CLAUDE.

My darling, it’s just as much for your sake that I’m firm.

GRACE.

[_Impatiently._] Oh, how can you make phrases! What on earth have I got to do with it?

CLAUDE.

Hang it all, don’t you see that it’s because of you that I can’t give way? It’s beastly having to say it. It makes me feel such an ass.

GRACE.

[_Beginning to be frightened._] What have I got to do with it?

CLAUDE.

Until I knew you I don’t suppose I had a higher opinion of women than most men, but you taught me what a--what a stunning fine thing a good woman is.

GRACE.

[_Hoarsely._] It’s perfectly absurd. It’s--it’s unreasonable. I’ve not been.... Only the other day you said I was cold. And just now you told me I was unkind.

CLAUDE.

I dare say that’s all my fault. I expect I bore you sometimes. After all, I know you’re worth about six of me. I can’t expect you to love me as I love you.

GRACE.

D’you mean to say that if I weren’t--what you think me, you wouldn’t insist on that poor girl going away?

CLAUDE.

I don’t suppose I should feel quite the same about it.

GRACE.

[_Trying to keep back her sobs._] It’s so unreasonable.

CLAUDE.

Even if it weren’t for the rule of the estate, I couldn’t let her live in the same place as you. I can’t help it. It’s just a sort of instinct. It simply disgusts me to think that you may meet that--that woman when you walk about, and her kid.

GRACE.

Oh, Claude, you don’t know what you’re saying.

CLAUDE.

When I heard she’d been here and you’d been talking to her, I felt almost sick.

GRACE.

[_Breaking down._] Oh, I can’t bear it.

CLAUDE.

Come, darling, don’t let’s quarrel any more. It hurts me so awfully.

GRACE.

[_To herself._] Oh, I can’t. I can’t.

CLAUDE.

Say you forgive me, darling.

GRACE.

I?... If I weren’t what you.... Oh, it’s too much to ask anyone. Claude, I beseech you to give way.

[_He shakes his head. She falls back in despair, realising that
there is no way to move him._

GRACE.

Oh, what a punishment!

[_The sound of a gong is heard._ CLAUDE _looks at his watch_.

CLAUDE.

By Jove, I had no idea it was so late. There’s the dressing gong. You must hurry up.

GRACE.

[_Looking at him vaguely._] What is it?

CLAUDE.

Time to dress for dinner, darling. You won’t be late, will you? You know how mother hates to be kept waiting.

GRACE.

[_Dully._] No, I won’t be late.

[_He takes her hand and presses it, then hurries out. She has given
him her hand inertly, and it falls heavily to her side as he drops
it. She remains standing where he left her. She tries to stifle the
tearless sobs that seem to choke her. The_ BUTLER _comes in_.

MOORE.

Peggy Gann wishes to know if you want to see her again, madam.

GRACE.

[_With a start._] Has she been waiting all this time?

MOORE.

Yes’m. She didn’t know as Gann had left. He never come back to the servants’ hall.

GRACE.

Tell her to come here.

MOORE.

Very good, madam.

[_He goes out. In a moment he opens the door for_ PEGGY GANN.

GRACE.

Oh, Peggy, how ill you look! I’ve been able to do nothing for you.

PEGGY.

[_With a cry of distress._] Oh, mum, I was hoping. You said you’d do your best for me.

GRACE.

My dear, I’m so dreadfully sorry for you.

PEGGY.

It’s so ’ard on me, mum, and so ’ard on father. Wasn’t there something more you could do, mum?

GRACE.

[_With a little gasp of anguish._] I did all I could. I couldn’t do anything more. I couldn’t really.... [_Almost to herself._] It’s too much to ask anyone.

PEGGY.

I’ve got to go then, and there’s an end of it. You won’t let father be turned away, will you, mum? That’s all I care about now. It ’ud just break his ’eart.

GRACE.

[_With a ray of hope._] D’you think he’ll let you go? I think it’s the best thing after all, Peggy. I’ve done--I’ve done all I could.

PEGGY.

No, he won’t hear of it. But I shall go all the same--somewhere he can’t find me.

GRACE.

[_Anxious now to make the best of it._] I dare say it won’t be for very long, Peggy. Have you as much money as you want? I should like to do something for you.

PEGGY.

I shan’t want anything, thank you, mum. And thank you for all you’ve done. And if anything come to ’appen to me, you’d see as the baby wasn’t sent to the workhouse, wouldn’t you, mum?

GRACE.

How d’you mean? I don’t understand.

PEGGY.

I’m not going to take the baby with me, mum. It would only be a hindrance.

GRACE.

[_With a sigh of relief._] Oh, I was so afraid you meant....

PEGGY.

Is there anything else you want me for, mum?

GRACE.

No, Peggy.

PEGGY.

Then I’ll say good evening, mum.

GRACE.

Good evening, Peggy.

[_She watches_ PEGGY _go out, then she gives a little moan of
despair_.

GRACE.

No, I couldn’t, I couldn’t.

EDITH LEWIS _comes in gaily_.

EDITH LEWIS.

There you are! I thought you were in your room. Your maid said you hadn’t come up yet.

GRACE.

[_Wearily._] I was just going.

EDITH LEWIS.

[_With a smile._] I’ve got something dreadfully important to ask you.

GRACE.

[_Forcing a smile._] What is it?

EDITH LEWIS.

Well, I want to know if you’re going to wear the grey satin you wore on Saturday. You see, I only brought three dinner dresses down with me, and one of them’s a grey, only it’s much more slaty than yours, and it’ll look so cold beside it. So I shan’t put it on if you’re going to wear yours.

GRACE.

[_Dully._] No, I won’t wear my grey satin.

EDITH LEWIS.

What are you going to wear?

GRACE.

I don’t know.

EDITH LEWIS.

But you must know.

GRACE.

Does it matter?

EDITH LEWIS.

I don’t want to clash with you.

GRACE.

[_Clenching her hands to prevent herself from screaming._] I won’t put on anything that’ll interfere with your grey.

EDITH LEWIS.

Thank you. Now I can be quite happy. I say, we shall be so late.

[_She runs off._ GRACE _gives a little answering laugh to hers; and
as_ EDITH LEWIS _goes out, it lengthens into a mirthless, low,
hysterical peal, broken with sobs_.

END OF THE SECOND ACT

THE THIRD ACT

[_The dining-room at Kenyon Fulton. It is a fine room with French
windows leading into the garden. On the walls are departed Insoleys
of the last two or three generations, stiff ladies and gentlemen of
the Victorian era, military-looking fellows in the uniform of the
early nineteenth century, and ungainly Georgian squires with their
wives in powdered hair. Between the windows, standing well away
from the wall, rather far back, is a round table laid out for
breakfast. On the Sheraton sideboard is a cloth, a stand for
keeping dishes warm, a large ham, and plates and forks and spoons.
Against the wall opposite the sideboard are a row of chairs, and
there are half a dozen chairs round the table. There are doors
right and left._

_It is the morning after the events which occur in the Second Act,
and when the curtain rises prayers have just finished._ CLAUDE _is
seated at the table with an immense prayer-book and a still larger
Bible in front of him. The rest of the party are rising to their
feet. They have been kneeling against various chairs. They consist
of_ MRS. INSOLEY, MISS HALL, _and_ MISS VERNON. _Well away from
them, emphasising the fact that even the Almighty must recognise
the difference between the gentry and their inferiors, have been
praying the servants. They have been kneeling against the row of
chairs that line the wall, according to their precedence, ranging
from the_ COOK _at one end to the_ BUTLER _at the other; and they
consist of the_ COOK, _obese, elderly and respectable_, MRS.
INSOLEY’S MAID, _two_ HOUSEMAIDS, _the_ KITCHENMAID, _the_ FOOTMAN,
_and_ MOORE _the butler. When they have scrambled to their feet
they pause for a moment to gather themselves together, and, headed
by the_ COOK, _walk out. The_ BUTLER _takes the Bible and the
prayer-book off the table and carries them away_. CLAUDE _gets up.
He takes up his letters and the_ Times, _which he puts under his
arm_.

MRS. INSOLEY.

I didn’t see Grace’s maid, Claude.

CLAUDE.

I dare say Grace couldn’t spare her.

MRS. INSOLEY.

If Grace were more punctual she wouldn’t be obliged to deprive her maid of the pleasure and the duty of attending morning prayers.

MISS HALL.

I didn’t see your maid either, Miss Vernon.

MISS VERNON.

She’s a Roman Catholic.

MRS. INSOLEY.

A Papist, Helen? Isn’t that very risky?

MISS VERNON.

Good gracious me, why?

MRS. INSOLEY.

Aren’t you afraid she’ll corrupt the other servants?

MISS VERNON.

[_With a smile._] She’s a highly respectable person of well over forty.

MRS. INSOLEY.

She must be very flighty. I would as soon have an atheist.

MISS HALL.

I would never dream of having a Romish maid myself.

MRS. INSOLEY.

Is there any likelihood of your having a maid at all, Louisa?

MISS HALL.

No, Mrs. Insoley.

MRS. INSOLEY.

In that case I can’t quite see what is the use of your having an opinion on the subject.

CLAUDE.

[_Looking up from his letters, with a smile._] Miss Hall was only making a general reflection.

MRS. INSOLEY.

I don’t like general reflections at the breakfast table.

[_During the next few speeches the_ BUTLER _and the_ FOOTMAN _come
in with covered entrée dishes which they put on the sideboard,
coffee and milk in silver pots, and tea. They go out._ CLAUDE
_retires to the window to read his letters_.

MRS. INSOLEY.

I suppose you have prayers at Foley, Helen?

MISS VERNON.

I’m afraid I don’t. It makes me feel rather shy to read them.

MRS. INSOLEY.

I don’t see why it should. It doesn’t make me feel shy.

MISS HALL.

You read them so well, Mrs. Insoley.

MRS. INSOLEY.

I never forget while I’m reading them that I’m a woman of birth and a woman of property.

MISS VERNON.

And then I always think the servants hate them.

MRS. INSOLEY.

The more they hate them, the better it is for them. That is life, my dear Helen. It’s a very good thing to begin the day by making it distinctly understood that masters are masters and servants are servants.

MISS HALL.

And I think servants like that, Mrs. Insoley.

MRS. INSOLEY.

It is not a matter of interest to me if they like it or not, Louisa. I have the authority of my maker for it, and that is quite enough for me.

CENTER
HENRY COBBETT _comes in_.

COBBETT.

I’m sorry I’m late.

MRS. INSOLEY.

When breakfast’s at ten o’clock I cannot imagine why people shouldn’t be punctual.

COBBETT.

Neither can I. [_Going to the sideboard._] Let’s have a look at the food.

MRS. INSOLEY.

See if there’s anything I’d like, Louisa.

COBBETT.

[_Taking off the covers._] There’s fried sole--eggs and bacon.

MRS. INSOLEY.

The staple of every middle-class hotel in the kingdom.

COBBETT.

And devilled kidneys.

MRS. INSOLEY.

I’ll begin with fried sole, and then I’ll have eggs and bacon, Louisa.

CLAUDE.

[_Coming forward._] Oh, I’m sorry. Is there anything I can get you?

MRS. INSOLEY.

[_Chaffing her fellow-guest._] And then, if Mr. Cobbett has left any, perhaps I’ll see if I can eat a devilled kidney.

COBBETT.

[_With a chuckle._] Mr. Cobbett thinks he’ll have to look nippy to get anything at all.

CLAUDE.

[_To_ MISS VERNON.] I wonder what I can tempt you with?

MISS VERNON.

I think I’ll have some fried sole.

CLAUDE.

That’s the beauty of the country. One does relish one’s breakfast, doesn’t one?

[_He hands a plate to_ MISS VERNON, _and sits down with another for
himself. As he does this he takes the_ Times _from under his arm
and sits on it_.

MISS VERNON.

[_With a smile at his peculiarity._] Is there anything in the _Times_, Claude?

CLAUDE.

I haven’t read it yet.

MRS. INSOLEY.

In some ways you’re much more of a Bainbridge than an Insoley, Claude. My father used always to sit on the _Times_ so that no one should read it before him.

CLAUDE.

I must say I don’t like to have my paper messed about by a lot of people before I’ve had a chance of looking at it. Half the pleasure of reading the _Times_ is reading it first. Besides, the _Morning Post_ and the _Mail_ are on the sideboard for anyone who wants them.

EDITH LEWIS _comes in_.

EDITH.

Oh, I know I’m dreadfully late. Everybody’s going to scold me. And I’m so sorry.

COBBETT.

[_Imitating_ MRS. INSOLEY.] When breakfast’s at ten o’clock I cannot imagine why people shouldn’t be punctual.

EDITH.

[_Smiling._] Isn’t Grace down yet? [_To_ CLAUDE, _who rises to give her something to eat_.] No, don’t bother. I’ll help myself.

MRS. INSOLEY.

When I was mistress of this house breakfast was served punctually at eight o’clock every morning.

COBBETT.

[_Flippantly._] It must have seemed just like supper. Did you have it the last thing before going to bed?

MRS. INSOLEY.

I made no exceptions. The day after my cousin James broke his neck in the hunting-field and was brought to this very house on a stretcher, I came down as the clock struck. And a very hearty breakfast I ate too.

COBBETT.

Perhaps he didn’t leave you anything.

MRS. INSOLEY.

[_With a chuckle._] On the contrary, he left me all his debts.

CENTER
_Enter_ GRACE.

GRACE.

Good morning.

MRS. INSOLEY.

Good afternoon, Grace.

GRACE.

Am I late? I think punctuality’s the most detestable of all the virtues.

MRS. INSOLEY.

It’s a royal virtue, my dear.

GRACE.

In that case, as a member of the middle classes, it’s not surprising that I don’t practise it.

CLAUDE.

What can I get you, darling?

GRACE.

Is there anything nice to eat?

MRS. INSOLEY.

[_With a grim smile._] That is a matter of opinion.

CLAUDE.

There’s fried sole and eggs and bacon.

GRACE.

Oh, I don’t think I’ll have anything. I’ll just have some tea and toast.

CLAUDE.

My dear, you’re not off your feed, are you?

MRS. INSOLEY.

Grace has probably been stuffing herself with bread and butter in her room. I have no patience with the new-fangled custom of giving people tea when they wake up. I never give it to my guests.

COBBETT.

Then don’t ask me to come and stay with you.

MRS. INSOLEY.

[_Delighted with the opportunity he has given her._] It may surprise you, but I have no intention of doing so.

COBBETT.

[_Cheerfully._] There now. And I thought I’d made such an impression on you, Mrs. Insoley.

MRS. INSOLEY.

That’s why I couldn’t risk asking you to stay with me. Perhaps at my age I am safe from your blandishments, but Louisa is extremely susceptible.

MISS HALL.

Oh, Mrs. Insoley, how can you! Why, Mr. Cobbett must be ten years younger than I am.

MRS. INSOLEY.

I should put it at fifteen.

COBBETT.

Don’t dash my hopes to the ground, Miss Hall. I was flattering myself you didn’t look upon me altogether with indifference.

[ARCHIBALD INSOLEY _comes in from the garden_.

ARCHIBALD.

Ah, I thought I’d find you still at breakfast.

CLAUDE.

We’re a lazy lot. I suppose you’ve been up and about for the last two hours.

GRACE.

[_Looking at him._] Is anything the matter?

ARCHIBALD.

Yes.

CLAUDE.

I thought you looked a bit odd.

ARCHIBALD.

A most awful thing has happened. I’ve only just heard of it.

CLAUDE.

[_Getting up from his chair._] What is it, old man?

[_By this time the breakfasters are disturbed; there is a certain
embarrassment about them; they are suffering from the awkwardness
people feel when they see some one in a condition of distress, but
do not suppose it has anything to do with themselves._

ARCHIBALD.

You’d better come along with me to the smoking-room.

GRACE.

It’s too late to make a secret of it, Archibald. You’d better tell us all.

CLAUDE.

Fire away, old man.

ARCHIBALD.

[_After a moment’s hesitation._] Peggy Gann has killed herself.

[GRACE _springs to her feet with a cry_.

CLAUDE.

[_Looking at_ GRACE.] My God.

[GRACE _comes forward, horror on her face, and walks unsteadily to
a chair. She sinks into it and stares in front of her._

CLAUDE.

Why on earth did she do it?

GRACE.

How horrible!

CLAUDE.

[_Going up to her, about to put his hand on her shoulder._] Grace.

GRACE.

[_With a shiver._] Don’t touch me.

[_He stops and looks at her, puzzled and unhappy._

ARCHIBALD.

You’d better come along.

CLAUDE.

[_With his eyes on_ GRACE.] I feel I ought to do something. I don’t know what to do.

ARCHIBALD.

I’m afraid there’s nothing much that can be done.

CLAUDE.

I’d better go and see Gann, hadn’t I?

MRS. INSOLEY.

Won’t you finish your breakfast before you go, Claude?

CLAUDE.

Oh, I can’t eat anything more.

[_He goes out with_ ARCHIBALD.

MISS HALL.

What a dreadful thing.

[GRACE _gets up and goes to the window_.

MRS. INSOLEY.

Where are you going, Grace?

GRACE.

[_Almost beside herself._] For heaven’s sake, leave me alone.

[_She stands with her back to the rest of the party, looking out of
the window. There is a little awkward pause._

MRS. INSOLEY.

Louisa, get me some of those devilled kidneys that Mr. Cobbett has been making so much fuss about.

COBBETT.

Let me.

MRS. INSOLEY.

Louisa will get them. She likes to wait on me herself. Don’t you, Louisa?

MISS HALL.

Yes, Mrs. Insoley.

[MISS VERNON _pushes back her chair_.

MRS. INSOLEY.

Have you finished, Helen?

MISS VERNON.

Yes.

MRS. INSOLEY.

You’ve eaten nothing.

MISS VERNON.

I couldn’t.

[MISS VERNON _looks as if she were going to speak to_ GRACE, _but
she changes her mind and merely sits down in another chair. Every
now and then she looks up at_ GRACE.

MRS. INSOLEY.

I cannot imagine why anyone should be upset because an abandoned hussy has been so wicked as to destroy herself.

COBBETT.

Well, it hasn’t taken my appetite away, at all events.

MRS. INSOLEY.

If we were honest with ourselves, Mr. Cobbett, we should acknowledge that nobody’s death is important enough to interfere with one’s appetite.

MISS HALL.

Oh, Mrs. Insoley, how can you say such a thing?

MRS. INSOLEY.

Louisa, I’ve been like a mother to you for ten years. Would you eat one potato less for your dinner if I were found dead in my bed to-morrow morning?

MISS HALL.

[_Taking out her handkerchief._] Oh, yes, Mrs. Insoley. I really, really would.

MRS. INSOLEY.

[_Touched._] You are a good girl, Louisa, and you may have that black lace shawl of mine. If you mend it carefully, it’ll last you for years.

MISS HALL.

Oh, thank you, Mrs. Insoley. You are so kind to me.

EDITH.

D’you think I ought to offer to go away to-day? I was going to stay till to-morrow.

COBBETT.

I was going to-day in any case. I’m due to stay with some people in Wiltshire.

MRS. INSOLEY.

You seem to be in great demand.

COBBETT.

I have a very pleasant fund of small talk.

MRS. INSOLEY.

I’m afraid this is not an occasion upon which you’ll find it of any use.

[_There is a moment’s pause._

EDITH.

I’m going into the garden.

COBBETT.

Come on. I’m dying for a smoke.

[_She gets up and walks out through the French windows._ COBBETT
_follows her_.

MRS. INSOLEY.

[_Getting up from the table._] I think you should remember, my dear Grace, that suicide is not only very wicked, but very cowardly. I have no patience with the sentimentalities of the present day. Our fathers buried people who were sinful enough to destroy themselves at the cross-roads with a stake in their insides. And it served them right.

[GRACE _does not answer_. MRS. INSOLEY, _with a shrug of the
shoulders, walks out of the room, followed by_ MISS HALL. _As soon
as_ GRACE _hears the door shut she turns round with an exclamation,
half-smothered, of impatient anger_.

GRACE.

Oh, did you hear? They have the heart to chatter like that when that unhappy girl is lying dead. They haven’t a word of pity. It seems to mean nothing to them that she sacrificed herself. If she died, it was to save her father, so that he shouldn’t be thrown out of work in his old age. And they call her wicked and sinful.

MISS VERNON.

But is that anything new to you? Haven’t you noticed that people always rather resent the heroism of others? They don’t like the claim it makes on _them_, and the easiest way to defend themselves is with a sneer.

GRACE.

I might have saved her life if I’d chosen, but I hadn’t the courage.

MISS VERNON.

[_Afraid that she is going to blurt out a secret which had much better not be referred to._] Grace, don’t be stupid.

GRACE.

Once I suspected what she was going to do, but she was too clever for me. I so wanted to believe it was all right. I wanted her to go away quietly.

MISS VERNON.

[_Trying to calm her._] Lots of women have been in difficulties before, and they haven’t killed themselves. There must have been some kink in her nature. I suppose the instinct of life wasn’t so strong as it is with most of us, and--and she would have committed suicide for almost any reason.

GRACE.

There was only one thing to say, and I didn’t say it. I couldn’t.

MISS VERNON.

My dear, for heaven’s sake pull yourself together.

GRACE.

D’you know why Claude was so determined she should go? Because he couldn’t bear that _I_ should come in contact with a woman who’d done wrong.

MISS VERNON.

[_Looking down._] I had an idea that was at the back of his mind.

GRACE.

[_With sudden suspicion._] Why should you know what Claude feels better than I do?

MISS VERNON.

[_Fearing she has given herself away._] It was a mere guess on my part.

GRACE.

[_With a keen look at her._] When I asked you the other day whether you’d been very much in love with Claude, you wouldn’t answer.

MISS VERNON.

[_Smiling._] I really thought it was no business of yours.

GRACE.

[_Gravely._] Are you in love with him still?

[MISS VERNON _is about to break out indignantly, but quickly
controls herself_.

MISS VERNON.

Yes, I suppose I am.

GRACE.

Much?

MISS VERNON.

_Hoarsely._] Yes.

[_There is a pause._

GRACE.

D’you know that my mother-in-law would give half her fortune to know--what you know? She’s been on the look-out to trip me up for years. It only wants a hint, and she can be trusted to make the most of it.

MISS VERNON.

My dear, I haven’t a notion what you’re talking about.

GRACE.

[_With a shrug of the shoulders._] How did you find out?

[MISS VERNON _looks at her for a moment, then looks away in
embarrassment_.

MISS VERNON.

I suspected before. In those circumstances hardly any men seem able to help a sort of proprietary air. He rather gave it away, you know.... And then yesterday I felt quite certain.

GRACE.

I’m in your hands. What are you going to do?

MISS VERNON.

My dear, what can I do? Claude wouldn’t love me more because he loved you less.

GRACE.

You must utterly despise me.

MISS VERNON.

No.... I feel awfully sorry for Claude.

GRACE.

[_Almost jealously._] Claude’s your first thought always.

MISS VERNON.

He’s been the whole world to me since I was a girl of sixteen.

GRACE.

Is that why you never married?

MISS VERNON.

I suppose it is.

GRACE.

I never dreamt that anyone could care for Claude like that. I suppose you see something in him that I’ve never seen.... He has a hundred different ways of getting on my nerves.

MISS VERNON.

You see, I’m not irritated by the mannerisms that irritate you.

GRACE.

[_Reflectively._] Real love accepts them, I suppose.

MISS VERNON.

It wants them even because it’s something individual to cling to.... And then it laughs at them a little, and the best love of all includes a sense of humour.

GRACE.

It’s made me feel so strange to know that you love him, Helen. It’s given him something that he’s never had before.

MISS VERNON.

I don’t suppose any woman likes her husband less because she knows that another woman is eating her heart out for him.

GRACE.

[_Slowly._] I wonder if I’ve misjudged him all these years.... D’you think I found him shallow because there was no depth in me, and narrow because I was narrow myself.

[_Enter_ CLAUDE INSOLEY. GRACE _turns to him quickly_.

GRACE.

Did you see Gann?

CLAUDE.

[_Touching the bell._] No, he wasn’t at the cottage. I’ve sent for him and told him to come here.

GRACE.

They know where he is then?

CLAUDE.

Yes, worse luck. He’s been soaking at the public-house since it opened.

MISS VERNON.

But when did it happen?

CLAUDE.

Peggy, d’you mean? She did it last night.

GRACE.

Last night? But why have we only just heard of it?

CLAUDE.

[_Deeply discouraged._] Because they don’t come to us any more when they’re in trouble. They keep it to themselves.

[MOORE _answers the bell_.

CLAUDE.

Oh, Moore, when Gann comes let me know. I’ll come and see him at once.

MOORE.

He’s here now, sir.

CLAUDE.

Is he? I didn’t expect him yet. All right.

GRACE.

Won’t you let him come here, Claude? I should like to speak to him too.

CLAUDE.

I don’t think you’d better see him if he’s been drinking. He may be going to make himself rather objectionable.

GRACE.

I must say to him what I’ve got on my heart, Claude.

CLAUDE.

Very well. [_To_ MOORE.] Tell Gann to come here.

MOORE.

Very good, sir.

[_Exit._

MISS VERNON.

I dare say you’d like me to leave you.

GRACE.

You don’t mind, do you?

[_With a shake of the head and a smile_ MISS VERNON _goes out_.
CLAUDE _looks a little uncertainly at his wife. He seeks for
something to say._

CLAUDE.

What a nice woman that is! I can’t imagine why Archibald doesn’t hurry up and marry her.

GRACE.

Perhaps he’s not in love with her.

CLAUDE.

Any man in his senses would be in love with her.

[GRACE _does not answer, but she gives him a curious glance_. MOORE
_opens the door to show_ GANN _in_. GANN _is dishevelled and
untidy, his face haggard and drawn. He is not exactly drunk, but he
is stupefied, partly with liquor and partly with grief. He carries
his gun. He comes in, his cap on his head, and stands clumsily near
the door._

CLAUDE.

Take off your cap, Gann.

[GANN _looks at him unsteadily and slowly takes off his cap_.

GANN.

Did you want to speak to me, Squire?

CLAUDE.

I’ve just been round to your cottage, Gann. I saw Peggy.... I want to tell you how awfully sorry I am for what’s happened. I can never forgive myself.

[GANN _steps forward with a lurch and faces_ CLAUDE.

GANN.

What d’you want me for? Couldn’t you let me be? D’you still want me to go?

CLAUDE.

No. That’s what I wanted to tell you.

GANN.

Give us time and we’ll clear. We don’t want long. Give us time to bury the girl. That’s all we want.

[GRACE _gives an exclamation of horror_.

CLAUDE.

I hope you’ll stay. I want to do everything I can to make up for your loss. I want you to know that I blame myself most awfully.

GANN.

Will that bring ’er back to life, d’you think?

CLAUDE.

I’d give anything for this horrible accident not to have happened. [_With a look at Grace._] I’m afraid it’s my fault.

GANN.

She killed ’erself so as I shouldn’t be turned off. That’s why she killed ’erself. You’re a hard master--you always was. She thought it was the only way to save me from the work’us.

CLAUDE.

[_Very awkwardly._] In future I’ll try to be different. I didn’t think I was hard. I thought I was only just.

GRACE.

It was a cruel rule.

CLAUDE.

I thought I was only doing my duty.

GANN.

She was a good girl, after all, Squire, a good girl.

CLAUDE.

I’m sure she was.

GANN.

It’s easy enough for you people to keep straight. You don’t ’ave temptations like we ’ave.

CLAUDE.

No, that’s true enough. I suppose it’s not really very hard for us to be moderately decent.

GRACE.

[_In a choking voice._] Where is the child now, Gann?

GANN.

[_Violently._] D’you want that too? Ain’t you satisfied yet? Has the child got to go before I stay?

GRACE.

No, no. I only wanted to know if there was anything I could do. I wanted to help you.

GANN.

I don’t want your ’elp. I only want you to let me work and earn my wages.

CLAUDE.

That you shall do, I promise you.

GANN.

Can I go now? I’ve got a deal to do this morning.

CLAUDE.

Yes.... Will you shake hands with me before you go?

GANN.

What good’ll that do you?

[CLAUDE _gives a gesture of discouragement_.

CLAUDE.

I can only repeat that I’m most awfully sorry. I’m afraid there’s absolutely nothing I can do to make up for your great loss.... You can go now.

[GANN _turns to go, while_ CLAUDE _and_ GRACE _watch him silently.
Suddenly he comes back and thrusts his gun into_ CLAUDE’S _hand_.

GANN.

Look ’ere, Squire, you take my gun. I ain’t fit to keep it.

CLAUDE.

[_Sharply._] What the devil d’you mean?

GANN.

Last night when the liquor was in me I swore I’d blow your brains out and swing for it. Don’t let me ’ave the gun. I’m not fit to keep it yet. If I get on the drink again I’ll kill you.

CLAUDE.

What the dickens d’you mean by speaking to me like that! Of course you must have your gun. I can’t allow you to neglect your work.

GRACE.

[_Almost in a whisper._] Claude, take care.

CLAUDE.

[_Looking at the lock._] Why isn’t it loaded?

GANN.

They took the cartridges out. I was about mad, and I don’t know what I said. If I’d come across you then--you wouldn’t be standing where you are now.

CLAUDE.

I suppose you take eights?

[GRACE _and_ GANN _both look at him_. GRACE _gives a start when she
realises what he is going to do_.

GANN.

That’s right.

[CLAUDE _nods and goes to the door. He hesitates, with a look at_
GRACE.

GRACE.

I shall be all right.

[_He goes out. In a moment he comes back with two cartridges. He
puts them in the gun, and hands it back to the gamekeeper._

CLAUDE.

Here you are. I don’t think I’m afraid. I’ll take my chance of your wanting to shoot me.

[GANN _takes the gun, and his hands close round it convulsively. He
half raises it._ CLAUDE _goes to the door through which he has just
come, and closes it. Then, almost mastered by the temptation_, GANN
_pulls himself together and advances a step towards his master_.
GRACE _gives a stifled cry_. CLAUDE _turns round and faces the
man_.

CLAUDE.

That’ll do, Gann. I don’t think I have anything more to say to you. You can go.

[GANN _struggles to command himself. His fingers itch to shoot,
but_ CLAUDE’S _unconcern prevents him_.

GANN.

By God!

[_He turns round to go, and flings the gun violently from him._

CLAUDE.

[_Peremptorily._] Gann, take your gun.

[_The man stops, looks at his master, and then, cowed, picks it up.
He lurches heavily out of the room. There is a pause._ GRACE _draws
a long breath_.

GRACE.

I’m glad you did that, Claude.

CLAUDE.

[_Thinking she refers to his attempts at apology._] It was very difficult to know what to say to him.

GRACE.

I didn’t mean that. I meant, I’m glad you made him take the gun.

CLAUDE.

Oh! Hang it all, you didn’t think I was likely to be frightened of one of my own servants, did you?

GRACE.

[_In a low voice._] I was rather afraid he was going to shoot you.

CLAUDE.

So was I. But I felt pretty sure he saw two of me, and I thought he’d probably shoot at the wrong one.

GRACE.

You’re very plucky.

CLAUDE.

Rot! [_He hesitates for a moment._] Grace, I’m afraid you think I’ve been an awful skunk.

GRACE.

[_With a quick look at him._] We none of us knew anything like this was going to happen.

CLAUDE.

Will you forgive me?

GRACE.

[_Startled._] I?

CLAUDE.

I’ve been feeling such an awful cad. If I’d only done what you wanted me to, this wouldn’t have happened.

GRACE.

That’s not _your_ fault. I didn’t say--what I should have said to make you change your mind.

CLAUDE.

It rather put my back up that you should be so set on letting Peggy stay. But it struck me afterwards, of course you couldn’t feel the same about it as I did. I think if one’s awfully straight, one’s full of charity, don’t you know.

GRACE.

My dear Claude, you talk as if I were a girl of eighteen.

CLAUDE.

I don’t suppose you remember, but when Archibald told us, I wanted to say something to you....

GRACE.

Yes, your first thought was for me, wasn’t it?

CLAUDE.

[_Going on._] And I came near you. And--and you sort of shuddered, and said: “For God’s sake, don’t touch me!”

GRACE.

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be unkind.

CLAUDE.

No, I know you didn’t. It just came out unawares. And--oh, Grace, I couldn’t bear to think you--you couldn’t stick me, don’t you know.... I suppose I’m a damned fool, but I haven’t made you hate and loathe me, have I?

GRACE.

I’m not worth so much troubling about, Claude.

CLAUDE.

I can’t help it. You’ve just somehow got in my blood and bones, and if it didn’t sound such drivel, I’d say you meant everything in the world to me. Only you just laugh at me when I say things like that.

GRACE.

[_Explaining to herself rather than to him._] It’s very hard for all of us to say what we mean. The words we use are so frayed. One ought to guess at--at the soul within them.

CLAUDE.

I’ve been trying to think about Gann and his daughter, but I can’t really think of anything but you.

GRACE.

You know, Claude, no one’s so wonderful as you think me. I’m no longer so young as all that, and you’re the only person who ever thought me very pretty.

CLAUDE.

I don’t mind. Sometimes, so that my love should mean more to you, don’t you know, I’ve wanted you to get older quickly, and I’ve wanted you to be plain.

GRACE.

[_With a little hysterical laugh._] Oh, my dear, what a horrible prospect.

CLAUDE.

Don’t laugh at me now, Grace.

GRACE.

[_With tears in her voice._] I’m not laughing at you. God knows I’m not laughing at you.

CLAUDE.

I’m such an ass at explaining myself. What I want to make you understand is that I don’t love you for anything that other people could love you for. I love you because you’re you, don’t you know. Because you’re so awfully good and straight. And you know I respect you so awfully.

GRACE.

[_In a hoarse voice._] I’m not good, Claude.

CLAUDE.

If I didn’t believe it, I should think the world a pretty rotten place.

GRACE.

I haven’t been the sort of wife you wanted. I felt that always.

CLAUDE.

You’ve been the only woman in the world for me. Always.

GRACE.

[_Deeply moved._] Not many women can say that, can they? One ought to be very grateful.

CLAUDE.

D’you remember the first time I ever saw you?

GRACE.

[_Looking away from him._] I wonder you didn’t marry Helen Vernon years before you came across me.

CLAUDE.

Hang it all, why on earth should I have done that!

GRACE.

Your mother was very anxious that you should.

CLAUDE.

I was just as little in love with Helen Vernon as she was in love with me.

GRACE.

I can’t help seeing that she would have made you a much better wife than I have. She would have understood you. I don’t think I ever understood you. I’ve been a wretched failure, Claude.

CLAUDE.

Darling, how can you talk such rot?

GRACE.

She might have had children. You wanted them so much, Claude, and I haven’t given you any.

CLAUDE.

That’s been hard luck on both of us, darling.

GRACE.

[_With deep feeling._] It might have made all the difference.

CLAUDE.

If I wanted children it was chiefly because I thought you’d be happier. You wouldn’t have minded the dull life down here then. And you might have cared a bit more for me because I was their father.

GRACE.

It all comes back to me, doesn’t it? I’m in all your thoughts always.

CLAUDE.

D’you mind?

GRACE.

I’m so ashamed.

[ARCHIBALD _comes in from the hall_.

ARCHIBALD.

Oh, Claude, I met the coroner’s officer on my way along here. He wants to see you.

CLAUDE.

All right. I’ll come. Is he in the hall?

ARCHIBALD.

[_With a nod._] I told him you knew nothing more than I’d said. But I’m afraid they’ll call you at the inquest.

CLAUDE.

The only thing’s to grin and bear it.

[_They go out._ GRACE _sinks into a chair at the writing-table and
buries her face in her hands. In a moment_ HENRY COBBETT _enters.
She starts up when she hears his footstep on the gravel. He has his
hat in his hand and his coat over his arm._

COBBETT.

I’m just starting. I was looking for you to say good-bye.

GRACE.

Is it time for you to go already? I didn’t know it was late.

COBBETT.

Thanks awfully for putting me up. It’s been perfectly topping.

GRACE.

It was nice of you to come. I hope you’ll run down again one of these days.

COBBETT.

[_In a lower tone._] I suppose you never want to set eyes on me again.

GRACE.

Never.

COBBETT.

You’re not awfully unhappy, are you?

GRACE.

[_With something between a sob and a chuckle._] Awfully.

COBBETT.

I’m dreadfully sorry.

GRACE.

That doesn’t do me much good, does it?

COBBETT.

If there’s anything I can do, I’d like awfully to do it if you’d let me.

GRACE.

No, whatever happens no one can help me but myself.

COBBETT.

I shouldn’t have played the fool if I’d thought you were going to take things so much to heart.

GRACE.

[_Ironically._] That’s the nuisance of women, isn’t it? They _will_ make an affair of what’s really only an episode.

COBBETT.

You have a way of saying things that makes one feel an awful bounder. After all, one can’t help falling in love, and one’s not a blackguard because one falls out of it.

GRACE.

D’you remember asking me yesterday if I was beginning to care for Claude differently?

COBBETT.

Yes.

GRACE.

I love him as I never thought it was possible to love. I don’t know why I love him. It’s come to me suddenly. I--oh, I can’t tell you what it is. It’s like hunger in my soul. And I’m frightened.

COBBETT.

I should have thought that made everything all right.

GRACE.

It’s come too late. I’m--soiled. Afterwards--you know what I mean, when you and I--the first thing I felt was surprise because I found myself no different. I thought when a woman had done that everything would seem altered. But I felt just the same as before. It’s only now. It’s like the stain of blood--don’t you remember--not all the perfumes of Arabia....

COBBETT.

[_Worried and moved._] You know, it’s absurd to take it like that.

GRACE.

[_With increasing agitation._] Oh, what have I done! If I’d only had the strength to resist! It’s now that I see it all, the utter degradation of it, the hateful ugliness. Oh, I loathe myself. How can I take my heart to Claude when there’s you standing between us?

COBBETT.

I’m awfully sorry, Grace.

GRACE.