MARY. That's just it, ma'am. If it had been anything else--But after
what happened, I just want never to see him again. You see, ma'am, it
was this way--
GUENEVERE. (_gently_) Is it necessary to tell me that, Mary? I know
what happened.
MARY. But you don't, ma'am. That's just it. I've been trying to tell
you what happened, ma'am.
GUENEVERE. Good heavens, was it so horrible! Well, go on, then. (_She
nerves herself to hear the worst_.) What _did_ happen?
MARY. Nothing, ma'am....
GUENEVERE. Nothing?
MARY. That's just it....
GUENEVERE. But I--I don't understand.
MARY. You said a while ago, Mrs. Robinson, that you couldn't help
falling in love. It's true. I tried every way to stop, but I couldn't.
So last night I--I went to his studio--
GUENEVERE. Yes?
MARY. I told you I was a wicked girl, Mrs. Robinson. You know I've a
key to let myself in to clean up for him. So last night I just went in.
He--he was asleep--
GUENEVERE. Yes?
MARY. I--shall I tell you, ma'am?
GUENEVERE. Yes. You _must_ tell me, now.
MARY. And I--(_She sits kneeling, looking straight ahead, and continues
speaking, in a dead voice_) I couldn't help it. I put my arms around
him.
GUENEVERE. Yes?
MARY. And he put his arms around me, Mrs. Robinson, and kissed me. And
I didn't care about anything else, then. I was glad. And then--
GUENEVERE. Yes?
MARY. And then he woke up--and he was angry at me. He swore at me. And
then he laughed, and kissed me again, and put me out of the room.
GUENEVERE. Yes, yes. And that--that was all?
MARY. I came home. I thought I would have died. I knew I had been
wicked. Oh, Mrs. Robinson--(_She breaks down and sobs_.)
GUENEVERE. (_patting her head_) Poor child, it's all right. You aren't
so wicked as you think. Oh, I'm so glad!
MARY. But it's jest the same, Mrs. Robinson. I wanted to be wicked.
GUENEVERE. Never mind, Mary. We all want to be wicked at times. But
something always happens. It's all right. You're a good girl, Mary.
There, stop crying!... Of course, of course! I might have known.
Lancelot couldn't--and yet, I wonder.... Mary, stand up and let me look
at you!
MARY. (_obeying_) Yes, ma'am.
GUENEVERE. (_in a strange tone_) You're a very good-looking girl,
Mary.... So he laughed, and gave you a kiss, and led you to the
door!... Well! Go to bed and think no more about it. It's all right.
MARY. Do you really think so, Mrs. Robinson? Isn't it the same thing if
you _want_ to be wicked--
GUENEVERE. You're talking like a professor of philosophy now, Mary. And
you're a woman, and you ought to know better. No, it isn't the same
thing, at all. Run along, child.
MARY. Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am. Good night, ma'am.
_She goes_.
GUENEVERE. Good-night, Mary. (_She returns to her darning. She smiles
to herself, then becomes serious, stops work, and looks at the clock.
Then she says_)--Vivien! Vivien's tears! Poor Lancelot! Oh, well!
(_She shrugs her shoulders, and goes on working. Then suddenly she
puts down her work, rises, and walks restlessly about the room....
There is a knock at the door. She turns and stares at the door. The
knock is repeated. She is silent, motionless for a moment. Then she
says, almost in a whisper_)--Come!
_A young man enters_.
GUENEVERE. Lancelot!
LANCELOT. Guenevere! (_They go up to each other, and he takes both
her hands. They stand that way for a moment. Then he says lightly_)
--Darning King Arthur's socks, I see!
GUENEVERE. (_releasing herself, and going back to her chair_) Yes.
Sit down.
LANCELOT. Where's his royal highness?
GUENEVERE. New York. Why don't you ever come to see us?
LANCELOT. (_not answering_) Charming domestic picture!
GUENEVERE. Don't be silly!
LANCELOT. I am going away.
GUENEVERE. Are you? I'm sorry. Don't you like our little village?
LANCELOT. Thought I'd stop in to say good-bye.
GUENEVERE. That's very sweet of you.
LANCELOT. (_rising_) I've got to go back and finish packing.
GUENEVERE. Not really?
LANCELOT. Going in the morning.
GUENEVERE. Why the haste? The summer's just begun. I hear you've been
doing some awfully good things. I was going over to see them.
LANCELOT. Thanks. Sorry to disappoint you. But I've taken it into my
head to leave.
GUENEVERE. You're not going tonight, anyway. Sit down and talk to me.
LANCELOT. All right. (_He sits, constrainedly_.) What shall I talk
about?
GUENEVERE. (_smiling_) Your work.
LANCELOT. (_impatiently_) You're not interested in my work.
GUENEVERE. Your love-affairs, then.
LANCELOT. Don't want to.
GUENEVERE. Then read to me. There's some books on the table.
LANCELOT. (_opening a serious-looking magazine_) Here's an article
on "The Concept of Happiness"--by Professor Arthur B. Robinson. Shall
I read that?
GUENEVERE. I gather that you are not as fond of my husband as I am,
Lancelot. But try to be nice to me, anyway. Read some poetry.