_A Fortnight Later._
SCENE.--_Drawing-room at LADY WARGRAVE'S. Main entrance C.,
Conservatory R. Entrance, L., to an inner room. Fireplace, R., up
stage, near which is LADY WARGRAVE'S chair, with the cushion of Act
I._
_The stage is discovered half-filled with Guests, who stand and sit in
groups, including COLONEL, CAPTAIN and MRS. SYLVESTER, and GERALD.
LADY WARGRAVE is receiving her guests. A buzz of general conversation;
and a band is heard playing in the inner room, loudly at first, but
softly after the picture is discovered._
SERVANT [_at entrance C._].
Miss Vivash and Mr. Pettigrew!
_Enter VICTORIA, followed leisurely by PERCY, a very young man who is
always smiling to himself, unconsciously._
VICTORIA [_going straight to LADY WARGRAVE and grasping her hand_].
Good evening, Lady Wargrave, I have taken the liberty of bringing a
friend whose name is no doubt known to you--Mr. Percy Pettigrew.
[_PERCY bows distantly, smiling._
LADY WARGRAVE.
Pettigrew, did you say?
PERCY.
Percy _Bysshe_ Pettigrew.
[_Smiling._
LADY WARGRAVE.
Of course! _two_ of your names are _quite_ well known to me; it is
only the surname that is unfamiliar.
PERCY [_smiling_].
Pettigrew!
[_Turns off._
GERALD.
One of my Oxford friends.
LADY WARGRAVE [_aside to him_].
One of those who are always at Oxford?
VICTORIA.
His "Supercilia" are quoted everywhere.
LADY WARGRAVE.
His----?
GERALD.
A column Percy does for "The Corset."
VICTORIA.
A newspaper devoted to our cause.
GERALD.
"The Corset" is Percy's organ.
LADY WARGRAVE.
Ah, his rattle!
SERVANT.
Dr. Bevan.
DR. BEVAN [_shakes hands with LADY WARGRAVE_].
I hope I am not late; but I was detained at the hospital. Most
interesting case, unhappily unfit for publication.
SERVANT.
Miss Bethune.
[_Exit SERVANT._
Enter ENID.
COLONEL [_to SYLVESTER_].
The best of 'em! [_ENID shakes hands with LADY WARGRAVE._] Ah, what a
pity, what a pity, Sylvester!
SYLVESTER.
What is a pity, Colonel?
COLONEL.
That such a figure should be wasted!
SYLVESTER [_in a matter of course voice_].
I prefer Mrs. Cazenove's.
[_Turns off. COLONEL eyes him curiously. The other Guests should be so
arranged that each man is surrounded by a little group of women._
PERCY [_the centre of one group, lolling lazily, always smiling with
self-complacency, suddenly sits up and shivers_].
No, no! don't mention it. It bores me so.
[_Shivers._
CHORUS.
And me!
[_All shiver._
VICTORIA.
The stage has ever been Woman's greatest foe.
GUEST.
For centuries it has shirked the sexual problem.
SYLVESTER [_who has strolled up_].
But doesn't it show signs of repentance?
PERCY.
The theatre is dying.
SYLVESTER.
Death-bed repentance, then. That's the one problem it discusses.
GUEST.
It is the one problem in life.
PERCY.
The theatre is dying! Dixi!
[_Leans back again._
DOCTOR.
The novel will sweep everything before it.
SYLVESTER.
You mean, the female novel?
DOCTOR.
Nothing can stop it.
SYLVESTER.
No, it stops at nothing.
DOCTOR.
Nor will it, till the problem is solved. That solution, I venture to
predict, will be on the lines of pure mathematics.
SYLVESTER.
Really?
[_Smothering a yawn._
DOCTOR.
I put the proposition in this way. The sexes are parallel lines.
SYLVESTER.
Which are bound to meet.
DOCTOR.
I must not be taken to admit, that there is any physiological
necessity.
VOICES.
Certainly not.
DOCTOR [_to LADY WARGRAVE, who is passing_].
I am sure, Lady Wargrave must agree with us.
LADY WARGRAVE.
What is that, Doctor?
DOCTOR.
That there is no physiological necessity----
LADY WARGRAVE.
To discuss physiology? I am quite of your opinion.
[_Passes on._
ENID [_who is in a group surrounding COLONEL]._
That's where we differ. What is _your_ view, Colonel?
COLONEL.
My dear Miss Bethune, there is no occasion for Man to express _any_
view, when Woman expresses them all. First, you must reconcile your
internal differences.
VOICE.
But we can't.
COLONEL.
To begin with, you must make up your minds whether you wish to
regenerate us or to degrade yourselves.
ENID.
Regenerate you, of course.
COLONEL.
Miss Vivash prefers the alternative.
ENID.
That is Victoria's foible.
COLONEL [_gallantly_].
I can admit no foible in a lady.
ENID.
At any rate, we are agreed on the main point--the equality of the
sexes.
COLONEL.
That, alas, is impossible.
VOICE.
Impossible?
COLONEL.
Whilst Woman persists in remaining perfect.
VICTORIA.
Cannot Man emulate her?
COLONEL.
I am afraid his strength is only equal to the confession of his
unworthiness.
ENID.
You would confess that? Then you agree with me, that a woman is
entitled to know the whole of a man's past?
LADY WARGRAVE [_who has joined them_].
Would it not be more useful if she knew something of his future?
ENID.
Women have futures; men have only pasts.
DOCTOR [_still in SYLVESTER'S group_].
It stands to reason--pure reason--there ought not to be one law for
women and another for men.
SYLVESTER.
You mean, that they ought both to be for women?
DOCTOR.
I mean, that the institution of marriage is in urgent need of
reconsideration.
SYLVESTER.
The sooner, the better.
DOCTOR.
I am glad you think so.
SYLVESTER.
When the institution of marriage is reconsidered, man will have
another chance.
[_Exit, R._
LADY WARGRAVE [_who has joined PERCY'S group_].
What do I think of the New Woman? There is no New Woman; she is as old
as Molière.
[_Stands listening, amused._
CHORUS.
Molière!
VICTORIA.
A pagan!
PERCY.
A frank pagan. For pure art we must go to Athens.
CHORUS.
Athens!
PERCY.
Or the Music Halls. Have you seen Trixy Blinko?
CHORUS.
Trixy--oh, charming--sweet!
PERCY.
In her alone I find the true Greek spirit. What were the prevailing
characteristics of Hellenic culture? [_A sudden silence._] Breadth and
centrality, blitheness and repose. All these I find in Trixy.
CHORUS.
Little dear!
LADY WARGRAVE.
Somewhat _risquée,_ isn't she?
PERCY.
To the suburban mind.
[_LADY WARGRAVE bows and turns off._
_SERVANT enters, L._
SERVANT.
Signor Labinski has arrived, your ladyship.
[_Exit, L. LADY WARGRAVE speaks to one or two of the Guests, and the
company disperse, most of them going off, L., but a few, C., and
others into the conservatory. During this general movement, the music
off, is heard louder. COLONEL is left with DR. MARY._
COLONEL.
Nonsense, my dear Doctor---- The fact's just this. The modern woman is
prostrated by the discovery of her own superiority; and she is now
engaged in one of those hopeless enterprises which _we_ have
regretfully abandoned. She is endeavouring to understand _herself._ I
offer her my respectful sympathy.
[_Bows and sits, C._
DOCTOR [_sits by him_].
The truth amounts to this: the one mitigating circumstance about the
existence of Man is, that he occasionally co-operates in the creation
of a Woman.
COLONEL.
His proudest privilege! The mystery to me is, that you ladies haven't
found it out before.
_Re-enter ENID, C._
DOCTOR.
Yes, but you shirk the question!
[_COLONEL is fanning himself, helplessly._
ENID [_aside_].
A man in distress! I must help him! [_Advancing sweetly._] What were
you saying, Doctor?
[_Sits on the other side of COLONEL._
COLONEL [_aside_].
Bethune! the best of 'em!
DOCTOR.
You know, from your own experience, that marriage is not a necessity.
COLONEL.
No, it's a luxury--an expensive luxury.
ENID.
Oh, surely that depends upon the wife.
DOCTOR.
It is she who has to associate with him.
ENID.
And considering what his past has been----
COLONEL.
Suppose it hasn't!
DOCTOR.
But it always has!
ENID.
I should be sorry to think that.
DOCTOR.
Take the Colonel's own case.
COLONEL [_alarmed_].
Doctor!
DOCTOR.
Do you deny that you have had a past?
COLONEL.
Oh, a few trifling peccadilloes!
ENID.
Then you must never marry.
COLONEL.
Am I to have no chance of reformation?
ENID.
It is your own fault.
DOCTOR.
Entirely.
COLONEL.
One moment, my dear ladies! Excuse me pointing out, that, in the last
resort, there must always be a female accomplice!
ENID.
Poor, tempted creature!
COLONEL.
_Tempted_ by a _man!_
DOCTOR.
We all have our weak moments.
[_Sighs._
ENID.
All of us!
[_Sighs. As the pair sit with their eyes cast down, silent, COLONEL
looks from one to the other in dismay, then steals off, R._
COLONEL [_at door_].
Getting dangerous!
[_Exit, R. When they look up, each with a languorous glance, they find
themselves languishing at one another; both rise._
ENID [_putting her arm round DOCTOR'S waist_].
My dear, we are missing the music!
[_Exeunt, L._
_Re-enter MRS. SYLVESTER and GERALD, C. Movement of other Guests
across stage, during music._
MRS. SYLVESTER.
Where have you been? I have seen nothing of you. What have you been
doing?
GERALD.
Thinking.
MRS. SYLVESTER [_jealously_].
Of whom?
GERALD.
Of Margery.
[_Movement of MRS. SYLVESTER._
MRS. SYLVESTER.
Has she said anything?
GERALD.
No, not a word.
MRS. SYLVESTER.
Of course, she heard?
GERALD.
What did I say? What did I do? What must she think of me? I can't bear
this suspense. For the last fortnight, she's been another woman. So
grave--so thoughtful--so unlike herself. There is no laugh to grate
upon me now. What would I give to bring it back again?
MRS. SYLVESTER.
Is it she only who has changed?
GERALD.
Ever since I saw that figure on the ground, I can see nothing else.
And it is I who brought it to the dust--I, who had sworn to cherish
it. Yes, you are right; I too am different; I see things from a
different point of view. And when I think of Margery's young life, so
full of hope and joy--Margery, who never asked to be my wife--Margery,
whom I compelled to marry me--with all the joy crushed out of her--I
feel too much ashamed even to ask forgiveness. And as I watch her move
about the house--silent and sorrowful--I ask myself, how much did
Margery give up for me? I took her from the station of life in which
she was born, and in which she was happy. I set her in another and a
strange one. Was mine the only sacrifice? How much of friendship and
of old association did she resign for my sake? My life continued as it
was before--I had my old friends and my old pursuits. What had she?
Nothing--but my love. And I took it away from her. Because she made a
few mistakes, and a few people laughed--a few more didn't call--and I
mistook a light heart for an empty head. What do all these things
matter? what is a man worth who sets such things above a love like
hers?
MRS. SYLVESTER.
This is pure pity, Gerald.
GERALD.
Pity for myself.
MRS. SYLVESTER.
She was no wife for you. She could be no companion.
GERALD.
If she was no companion, did I make her one?
MRS. SYLVESTER.
Need you tell _me_ all this?
GERALD.
Yes, Mrs. Sylvester, it's best I should. I came to tell it you.
MRS. SYLVESTER.
Not Agnes now!
GERALD.
Forget my folly, and forget your own.
MRS. SYLVESTER.
Mine was no folly. I, at least, was sincere; the love that isn't based
on sympathy is a mere passion.
GERALD.
And the love that has no passion in it, isn't worth the name!
MRS. SYLVESTER.
That's your idea?
GERALD.
And what is yours? Let us be frank.
MRS. SYLVESTER.
Oh, frankness, by all means.
GERALD.
Forgive me; but we're face to face with truth. Don't let us flinch
from it. We have both made the same mistake--not in our marriages, but
in despising them. What we want in a partner is what we lack in
ourselves. Not sympathy only, but sex. Strength requires gentleness,
sweetness asks for light; and all that is womanly in woman wants all
that is manly in man. You think your husband is no mate for you. What
I have missed in Margery, have you not missed in him?
MRS. SYLVESTER [_after a pause_].
I understand you. It is over.
GERALD.
It is for you to say. We have gone too far together for either of us
to turn back alone. I have not only made my own hearth desolate, but
yours. I owe you all the reparation I can make. I only want you to
know the truth. What is left of my life you may command, but my heart
is not mine to bestow.
MRS. SYLVESTER [_turns up, to hide her emotion, and tries to go into
the room, L., but half-way she falters and puts out her hand_].
Gerald!
[_He goes to her and offers her his arm. Exeunt GERALD and MRS.
SYLVESTER, L. Other Guests cross the stage. Enter MARGERY, C. Finding
herself opposite LADY WARGRAVE'S chair, takes a long look at it, then
moves the cushion, and gradually gets into her old position behind it.
Music heard off, softly, during this passage._
MARGERY.
Yes, this is how it ought to be. It looks a different world
altogether--the real world--the world, when Gerald loved me!
[_Comes down and sits, in a reverie._
_Re-enter SYLVESTER, R._
SYLVESTER.
Alone, Mrs. Cazenove? It isn't often that I find you alone. I've seen
nothing of you lately. You've always been out when I've called.
MARGERY.
I was in once.
SYLVESTER.
Only once.
MARGERY.
It was enough.
SYLVESTER.
You are cruel.
MARGERY.
Are you looking for your wife?
SYLVESTER [_laughs_].
Agnes and I go very different ways.
MARGERY.
I think you're going the same way, both of you.
SYLVESTER [_still laughing_].
But in opposite directions. Mrs. Cazenove, you're quite a philosopher.
Why have you grown so serious all at once?
MARGERY.
I'm older than I was.
SYLVESTER.
Only a fortnight since you were all vivacity.
MARGERY.
One can live a long time in a fortnight.
SYLVESTER.
I hope these ladies haven't converted you.
MARGERY.
Yes; I am a new woman.
SYLVESTER [_laughs_].
Your husband has been reading you his book!
MARGERY.
A good deal of it.
SYLVESTER.
What is it all about? If I am not too curious.
MARGERY.
It's about love.
SYLVESTER.
I thought it was about marriage.
MARGERY.
Aren't they the same thing? He says they are, and I agree with him.
And then he says [_half to herself_] that, when the love is gone, so
is the marriage--and I think he's right!
[_Loses herself in thought._
SYLVESTER [_gazes at her for some moments, then unable to restrain
himself_].
Ah, Margery! if Heaven had given me such a wife as you----
MARGERY [_rises_].
Heaven didn't, and there's an end of it.
SYLVESTER [_rises_].
Forgive me! how can I help admiring you?
MARGERY.
Can't you admire me without telling me? It's well to make the best of
what we have, instead of trying to make the worst of what we haven't.
SYLVESTER.
I must be silent!
MARGERY.
Or not talk in that way.
[_Moves away._
SYLVESTER [_following, in an outburst_].
Gerald doesn't love you [_movement of MARGERY_]--oh, you said that
just now! you mayn't know that you said it, but you did! My wife
doesn't love me--I don't love my wife--and yet I must say nothing.
MARGERY.
What's it to me that you don't love your wife?
SYLVESTER.
I love _you,_ Margery.
MARGERY.
I knew that was coming.
SYLVESTER.
Honestly love you! I admired you always. It was an empty admiration,
perhaps--the admiration a man feels for twenty women--but it grew
solid; and the more you repulsed me, the more you attracted me. You
mayn't believe me, but at first I _wanted_ you to repulse me; then it
got past that; and when I saw you sitting there alone--living over in
your mind your wasted life--I loved you, and the words sprang to my
lips. Nothing could keep them back! I love you, Margery--nobody but
you! Why should your life be wasted? Why should mine?
MARGERY.
Well, have you finished?
SYLVESTER [_seizing her_].
No!
MARGERY.
I can guess the rest. You say Gerald doesn't love me, you don't love
your wife, and your wife doesn't love _you;_ but you forget one
thing--that _I_ don't love you either.
SYLVESTER.
Not now, but by-and-by. Margery, I would make you love me--I would
teach you!
MARGERY.
So, I'm to _learn_ to be unfaithful, is that it? As one learns music?
No, Captain Sylvester! Suppose two people are so much in love that
they can't help it, Heaven is their judge, not me. But to _begin_ to
love when they _can_ help it--not to resist--to _teach_ themselves to
love--that's where the wrong is, and there's no gainsaying it.
SYLVESTER.
Suppose your husband left you?
MARGERY.
I would have no other!
SYLVESTER.
Why not?
_Re-enter GERALD, L._
MARGERY.
Because I love him, and I don't love you!
[_MARGERY'S back is towards GERALD, so that she doesn't see him; but
SYLVESTER is facing him and sees him._
GERALD [_coming down to MARGERY_].
What has he said?
MARGERY.
Nothing for your ears!
SYLVESTER.
Yes, for all the world's! I'll tell you!
MARGERY.
I forbid you! Leave me with my husband.
[_SYLVESTER hesitates a moment, then exit, C._
GERALD.
Margery, speak! I have a right to know.
MARGERY.
You have no right!
GERALD.
You will not tell me?
MARGERY.
No!
GERALD.
Then _he shall!_
[_Advances on her._
MARGERY.
Stand back! You shall not go!
GERALD.
What, you defend him?
MARGERY.
Against you, I do! Who are you to question him? Are your own hands
clean?
GERALD [_drops back as if struck_].
Margery!
MARGERY [_holding out her hand_].
Good-bye!
GERALD.
Good-bye?
MARGERY.
I'm going home.
GERALD.
To Mapledurham?
MARGERY.
We'll say good-bye now.
GERALD.
Here--Margery?
MARGERY.
You needn't be afraid. There'll be no scene; I've done with tears.
GERALD.
You're [_chokes_] going to leave me?
MARGERY.
Yes.
GERALD.
For a few days, you mean?
MARGERY.
I mean, for ever. Gerald, I've had enough of half a home and only half
a heart. I'm starving, withering, dying here with you! They love me
there! Let me go back to them! Oh, what a world it is! To think that
one can get the love of any man except the man one loves!
GERALD.
You have it, Margery!
MARGERY [_fiercely_].
I haven't.
GERALD.
If you only knew----
MARGERY.
I know I haven't! what's the use of words? Do you think a woman
doesn't know when she's not loved, or is? When you first said you
loved me, down in the fields yonder, do you suppose you took me by
surprise? You had no need to swear. I knew you loved me, just as
certainly as I know now you don't!
GERALD [_much moved_].
Oh, what a scoundrel I was, Margery!
MARGERY.
No man's a scoundrel to the woman he loves. Ah, it was easy to forgive
your loving me. But I'll do something that is not so easy. I will
forgive you for _not_ loving me. It's been a struggle. For the last
fortnight I haven't said a word, because I wasn't master of myself,
and I didn't want to speak till I'd forgiven you. I wasn't listening,
Gerald. Heaven knows I would have given all the world not to have
heard a word; but when you spoke my name, I couldn't move. The ground
seemed slipping underneath my feet, and all the happiness of all my
life went out of it in those three words, "Margery's hopeless,
hopeless!"
GERALD.
Don't! don't! you torture me!
MARGERY.
Yes, Margery _is_ hopeless. Every scrap of hope has gone out of her
heart. I heard no more. It was enough. There was the end of all the
world for me. [_GERALD groans._] But it was well I heard you. I should
have gone blundering along, in my old madcap way, and perhaps not
found it out till I had spoilt your life. It's well to know the truth;
but, Gerald dear, why didn't you tell it me instead of her? Why didn't
you tell me I was no companion? I would have gone away. But to pretend
you loved me, when you didn't--to let me go on thinking you were
happy, when all the time you were regretting your mistake--not to tell
_me,_ and to tell someone else--oh, it was cruel, when I loved you so!
GERALD.
How could I tell you, Margery?
MARGERY.
How could you tell _her?_ How could she listen to you? I forgive
_you,_ Gerald--I didn't at first, but now I understand that there are
times when one's heart is so sore, it must cry out to somebody. But
_she----_
GERALD.
It was my fault!
MARGERY.
You are mistaken there. It was your voice that spoke them, but the
words were hers. It's she who's robbed me of your love! It isn't I
who've lost it; she has stolen it!
GERALD.
No, no!
MARGERY.
Be careful, or she'll steal your honour too. Don't trust to her fine
phrases. She deceives herself. She wants your love, that's what that
woman wants: not to instruct the world--just to be happy--nothing more
or less; but she won't make you happy or herself. If I am no
companion, she's a bad one!
GERALD.
You wrong her, Margery--indeed, you do! _I_ was the culprit----
MARGERY.
Have some pity on me! Don't let the last words I shall hear you say be
words defending her! Think what she's done for me! Think how you loved
me when you married me--think what our two lives might have been, but
for her--think what mine _will_ be! for mine won't be like yours. Your
love is dead, and you will bury it, but mine's alive--alive!
[_Breaks down._
GERALD.
And so is mine!
MARGERY [_springs up_].
Don't soil your lips with lies! I've borne as much as I can bear. I
can't bear that!
GERALD.
If you will only listen----
MARGERY.
I have heard too much! Don't speak again, or you will make me hate
you! My mind's made up. I have no business here! You are above me. I'm
no wife for you! I'm dragging you down every day and hour.
GERALD.
Margery! you shall not go!
MARGERY [_flinging him off_].
To-night and now! Good-bye!
[_Rushes into conservatory, R._
GERALD.
What right have I to stop her?
[_Goes up, leans upon chair. Re-enter SYLVESTER, C._
SYLVESTER.
Now, Mr. Cazenove, I am at your service.
GERALD.
You are too late.
[_Exit, C._
SYLVESTER.
So, he won't speak to me. But I will make him. If he thinks I am
caught, like a rat in a trap, he's made a mistake. There'll be a
scandal--well, so much the better! Better that they should know the
truth all round.
_Re-enter MRS. SYLVESTER, L._
MRS. SYLVESTER.
Ah, you are here! I've been looking for you everywhere.
SYLVESTER.
Looking for _me?_
MRS. SYLVESTER.
I want you to take me home.
SYLVESTER.
I've something to say to you. Sit down.
MRS. SYLVESTER.
Not to-night. I'm tired.
SYLVESTER.
Yes, to-night. What I'm going to say may be everybody's property
to-morrow. I choose that you should know it now.
MRS. SYLVESTER.
I don't understand you.
SYLVESTER.
But you shall. I've often heard you say that a loveless marriage is no
marriage. Well, ours is loveless enough, isn't it?
MRS. SYLVESTER.
It has been.
SYLVESTER.
It is! I've never understood you; and if there was any good in me,
you've never taken the trouble to find it out.
MRS. SYLVESTER.
I can't bear this now.
SYLVESTER.
You must. Don't think I'm going to reproach you. I take all the blame
on myself. What if I were to tell you that you've made a convert to
your principles where you least expected it?
MRS. SYLVESTER.
What do you mean?
SYLVESTER.
That it's best for us both to put an end to this farce that we're
living. I mean, that I love another woman.
MRS. SYLVESTER [_rising_].
You!
SYLVESTER.
Perhaps that seems to you impossible. You thought, perhaps, that I was
dull and stupid enough to go on with this empty life of ours to the
end. I thought so too, but I was wrong. I love this woman, and I've
told her so----
MRS. SYLVESTER [_with jealousy_].
Who is she?
SYLVESTER.
And I would tell her husband to his face
MRS. SYLVESTER.
Then she is married?
SYLVESTER.
As I tell _you._
MRS. SYLVESTER.
Who is she, I say?
SYLVESTER.
Margery.
MRS. SYLVESTER.
Margery! Are you all mad, you men? What is it in that woman that
enslaves you? What is the charm we others don't possess? Only you men
can see it; and you all do! You lose your senses, every one of you!
What is it in her that bewitches you?
SYLVESTER.
What you've crushed out of yourself--your womanhood. What you're
ashamed of is a woman's glory. Philosophy is well enough in boots; but
in a woman a man wants flesh and blood--frank human nature!
MRS. SYLVESTER [_laughing, hysterically_].
A mere animal!
SYLVESTER.
A woman.
MRS. SYLVESTER.
Well, you have found one.
SYLVESTER.
Yes.
MRS. SYLVESTER.
Take her, then! go your way!
SYLVESTER.
I will.
[_Exit, C._
MRS. SYLVESTER.
This world was made for such as you and her!
_Re-enter MARGERY, R., cloaked._
We have no place in it--we who love with our brains! we have no chance
of happiness!
MARGERY.
What chance have we? we, who love with our hearts! we, who are simply
what God made us--women! we, to whom love is not a cult--a problem,
but just as vital as the air we breathe. Take love away from us, and
you take life itself. You have your books, your sciences, your brains!
What have we?--nothing but our broken hearts!
MRS. SYLVESTER.
Broken hearts heal! The things that _you_ call hearts! One love is
dead, another takes its place; one man is lost, another man is found.
What is the difference to a love like yours? Oh, there are always men
for such women as you!
_By degrees re-enter omnes, R., L., and C., gradually, except GERALD._
MARGERY.
But if the love is not dead? if it's stolen? what is our lot
then--ours, whose love's alive? We, who're not skilled to steal--who
only want our own----
MRS. SYLVESTER.
Not skilled to steal! have you not stolen mine?
MARGERY.
I have one husband, and I want no other!
[_Murmurs._
LADY WARGRAVE [_restraining her_].
Calm yourself, dear!
MARGERY.
I have been calm too long!
LADY WARGRAVE.
Remember, you are my niece.
MARGERY.
That's what I do remember! [_Murmurs continue._] I am Gerald's wife!
That's what she doesn't forgive me! [_Addressing MRS. SYLVESTER._] You
call yourself a New Woman--you're not New at all. You're just as old
as Eve. You only want one thing--the one thing every woman wants--the
one thing that no woman's life's worth living without! A true man's
love! Ah, if we all had that, there'd be no problem of the sexes then.
I had it once. Heaven help me, I have lost it! I've done my best--it
isn't much, but it's the best I can. I give it up! If you have robbed
me of his love, my own is left to me; and if the future's yours, the
past is mine. He loved me once, and I shall love him always!
[_Exit, C._