Miss Woodward.
You are very kind, but I am in no mood for merriment.
Mrs. Parbury.
Merriment!
Miss Woodward.
Aren"t you all merry? I"m so sorry. I thought it would be all right now that I"m going away.
Mrs. Parbury.
I"m afraid that won"t make any difference. You speak as though you thought you had a grievance against me.
Miss Woodward.
Oh no; I suppose it"s the other way about.
Mrs. Parbury.
Perhaps it ought to be, but somehow I don"t feel it acutely. I feel only a dull pain. It"s a terrible thing, Miss Woodward, for a young married woman to suddenly realise that her happiness is gone. I feel that I have aged many years in the last few hours.
Miss Woodward.
So do I. I"m sadder, but healthier.
[Finishes the beer.
Mrs. Parbury.
It"s so much worse for me.
Miss Woodward.
Oh, of course our own troubles are always the worst. That is what has been called "The vanity of grief."
Mrs. Parbury.
Well, Miss Woodward, I"ll say good-bye. I bear you no ill-will now-really I don"t; and I shall always be glad to hear that you are doing well, although naturally under the circ.u.mstances I can hold out no hopes of your coming back here.
Miss Woodward.
[In amazement.] You, Mrs. Parbury, hold out hopes of my returning here! Do you think there is enough money in the Bank of England to induce me to do that?
Mrs. Parbury.
I didn"t mean it unkindly. I was only trying to say a nice womanly thing, and to show you that I didn"t blame you so much for falling in love with my husband.
Miss Woodward.
I never did.
Mrs. Parbury.
Oh, Miss Woodward, you know I saw you here. [Pointing to Parbury"s photograph.] It was the greatest shock of my life.
Miss Woodward.
You mean I kissed his photograph?
Mrs. Parbury.
You know you did.
Miss Woodward.
[With a little laugh.] I suppose I did.
Mrs. Parbury.
Then how can you say-- Miss Woodward.
[Gravely.] It was a motherly kiss.
Mrs. Parbury.
[Turning away.] It seems impossible to talk with you. I used to think you a serious-minded person.
Miss Woodward.
Please don"t go, Mrs. Parbury, I"m quite serious. I"d like to explain. I think I owe it to you.
Mrs. Parbury.
[Turning.] Well?
Miss Woodward.
You will let me be quite frank?
Mrs. Parbury.
Oh, I shall like it.
Mrs. Parbury.
I"ll take the risk. [Comes down L., sits on sofa.] Go on, please.
Miss Woodward.
The interest which I began to take in Mr. Parbury sprang in a way from what has been called the maternal instinct.
Mrs. Parbury.
If you go through the world exercising your maternal instinct on other women"s husbands, Miss Woodward, you"ll end badly.
Miss Woodward.
I don"t propose doing so. I"m going home to try it on my sisters.
Mrs. Parbury.
If you had known anything of life, you would have seen that I had sufficient of the maternal instinct for the needs of my husband.
Miss Woodward.
I"m very, very sorry; please don"t be angry, but I didn"t think it found the right expression. It was very impudent of me, I know.
Mrs. Parbury.
Very.
Miss Woodward.
It seemed to me that you smoothed his hair when he"d rather it was rough, and roughed it when he"d rather it was smooth. [Demurely.] I think that expresses what I mean. I have a beastly sly way of noticing everything, and I began to feel sorry for Mr. Parbury. And being quite as egotistical as most girls, I began to think I should have made him a better wife than you.
Mrs. Parbury.
Oh.
[Rises.
Miss Woodward.
Perhaps in the remotest corner of my heart I think so still.
Mrs. Parbury.
[Indignant.] Well?
Miss Woodward.
But I never loved him-never in the least degree.
[Mrs. Parbury, during the foregoing, has listened with anger gathering in her face, but at the end, after an apparent momentary struggle with herself, she bursts into laughter.
Miss Woodward.
I"m glad you"re not angry.
Mrs. Parbury.
[Still laughing.] It"s impossible to be angry. And so because you thought his wife bored him, you gave his photograph a nice motherly kiss. That was very sweet of you, I"m sure.
Miss Woodward.
It was well meant, Mrs. Parbury; and you must always remember that I didn"t know you were looking.
Mrs. Parbury.
[Laughing, sits on sofa.] Why do you make me laugh when you must know that my heart is breaking-that I have lost my happiness for ever. [Pause. She begins to laugh again. Rises.] And I thought you a designing hussy, when you are only a very quaint and harmless girl.
[Laughs.
Enter Gunning, L.; keeps the door open.
Gunning.
I"m afraid I"m in the way.
Mrs. Parbury.
Not at all. We have said all we had to say to each other. Oh, how that girl has made me laugh!
[Exit Mrs. Parbury, L., laughing. Gunning shuts the door.
Miss Woodward.
Good-bye, Mr. Gunning.
[Gathering her books together.
Gunning.
I want a little talk with you.
Miss Woodward.
I"m sorry I can"t give you the time, Gunning.
Oh yes, you will, Miss Woodward.
Miss Woodward.
Indeed? I admit my position is a lowly one, but that doesn"t lessen your presumption.
[Goes towards the door.