GEOFFREY. Because I do not choose for my wife’s name to be linked with a
movement that I regard as criminal. I forbid it.
(_It was the moment that was bound to come_. _The man’s instincts_,
_training_, _have involuntarily asserted themselves_. _Shall the woman
yield_? _If so_, _then down goes the whole movement—her claim to
freedom of judgment_, _of action_, _in all things_. _All watch the
struggle with breathless interest_.)
ANNYS. (_She speaks very slowly_, _very quietly_, _but with a new note
in her voice_.) I am sorry, but I have given much thought to this
matter, and—I do not agree with you.
MRS. PEEKIN. You will help us?
ANNYS. I will do what I can.
PEEKIN. (_He takes from his pocket a folded paper_.) It is always so
much more satisfactory when these things are in writing. Candidates,
with the best intentions in the world, are apt to forget. (_He has
spread the paper on a corner of the table_. _He has in his hand his
fountain-pen_.)
ANNYS. (_With a smile_.) I am not likely to forget, but if you wish
it—(_She approaches the table_.)
GEOFFREY. (_He interposes_. _His voice is very low_, _almost a
whisper_.) My wife will not sign.
ANNYS. (_She also speaks low_, _but there is no yielding in her voice_.)
I am not only your wife. I have a duty also to others.