id="id00042">BETTY. [Softly.] Poor Hector!

WALTER. [Uncomfortably.] … Yes …

BETTY. Doesn't it make you feel dreadful when he talks like that? [She kisses him; then puts her arms round his neck, draws his face to her, and kisses him again, on the cheek.] Doesn't it?

[She nestles contentedly closer to him.

WALTER. [Trying to edge away.] Well, it does. Yes.

BETTY. [Dreamily.] I—like it.

WALTER. Betty!

BETTY. Yes, I like it. I don't know why. I suppose I'm frightfully wicked.
Or the danger perhaps—I don't know.

WALTER. [Making a futile effort to get up.] Betty—

BETTY. [Tightening her arms around him.] Stop there, and don't move. How smooth your chin is—his scrapes. Why don't husbands shave better? Or is it that the forbidden chin is always smoother? Poor old Hector! If he could see us! He hasn't a suspicion. I think it's lovely—really, I do. He leaves us here together, night after night, and imagines you're teaching me bridge.

WALTER. [Restlessly.] So I am. Where are the cards?

BETTY. [Caressing him.] Silly, have you forgotten that this is Tuesday—Maggie's night out? She's gone—I told her she needn't wait to clear away. We've arranged master's supper. Master! You're my master, aren't you?

WALTER. … I don't know what I am …

BETTY. Oh yes you do—you're my boy. Whom I love. There. [She kisses him again, full on the lips.] That was a nice one, wasn't it? Poor old Hector, sitting in his stall—thinks he's so wonderful, knows such a lot! Yes, Maggie's out—with her young man, I suppose. The world's full of women, with their young men—and husbands sitting in the stalls…. And I suppose that's how it always has been, and always will be.

WALTER. [Shifting uneasily.] Don't, Betty—I don't like it. I mean, he has such confidence in us.

BETTY. Of course he has. And quite rightly. Aren't you his oldest friend?

WALTER. [With something of a groan.] I've known him since I was seven.

BETTY. The first man he introduced me to—his best man at the wedding—do you remember coming to see us during the honeymoon? I liked you then.

WALTER. [Really shocked.] Betty!

BETTY. I did. You had a way of squeezing my hand…. And then when we came back here. You know it didn't take me long to discover—

WALTER. [Protesting.] I scarcely saw you the first two or three years!

BETTY. No—you were afraid. Oh I thought you so silly! [He suddenly contrives to release himself—gets up, and moves to the card-table.] Why, what's the matter?

WALTER. [At the table, with his back to her.] I hate hearing you talk like this.

BETTY. Silly boy! [She rises, and goes to him; he has taken a cigarette out of the box on the table, and stands there, with his head bent, tapping the cigarette against his hand.] Women only talk "like this," as you call it, to their lovers. They talk "like that" to their husbands—and that's why the husbands never know. That's why the husbands are always sitting in the stalls, looking on. [She puts her arms round him again.] Looking and not seeing.

[She approaches her lips to his—he almost fretfully unclasps her arms.

WALTER. Betty—I want to say a—serious word …

BETTY. [Looking fondly at him.] Well, isn't what I'm saying serious?

WALTER. I'm thirty-eight.

BETTY. Yes. I'm only thirty. But I'm not complaining.

WALTER. Has it ever occurred to you—

[He stops.

BETTY. What?

[WALTER looks at her—tries to speak, but cannot—then he breaks away, goes across the room to the fireplace and stands for a moment looking into the fire. She has remained where she was, her eyes following him wonderingly. Suddenly he stamps his foot violently.

WALTER. Damn it! DAMN it!

BETTY. [Moving towards him in alarm.] What's the matter?

WALTER. [With a swift turn towards her.] I'm going to get married.

BETTY. [Stonily, stopping by the round table.] You …

WALTER. [Savagely.] Going to get married, yes. Married, married!

[She stands there and doesn't stir—doesn't speak or try to speak; merely stands there, and looks at him, giving no sign. Her silence irritates him; he becomes more and more violent, as though to give himself courage.

WALTER. You're wonderful, you women—you really are. Always contrive to make us seem brutes, or cowards! I've wanted to tell you this a dozen times—I've not had the pluck. Well, to-day I must. Must, do you hear that?… Oh, for Heaven's sake, say something.

BETTY. [Still staring helplessly at him.] You …

WALTER. [Feverishly.] Yes, I, I! Now it's out, at least—it's spoken! I mean to get married, like other men—fooled, too, I dare say, like the others—at least I deserve it! But I'm tired, I tell you—tired—

BETTY. Of me?

WALTER. Tired of the life I lead—the beastly, empty rooms—the meals at the Club. And I'm thirty-eight—it's now or never.

BETTY. [Slowly.] And how about—me?

WALTER. You?

BETTY. [Passionately.] Yes. Me. Me!

WALTER. You didn't think this would last for ever?

BETTY. [Nodding her head.] I did—yes—I did. Why shouldn't it?

WALTER. [Working himself into a fury again.] Why? You ask that? Why? Oh yes, it's all right for you—you've your home and your husband—I'm there as an—annexe. To be telephoned to, when I'm wanted, at your beck and call, throw over everything, come when you whistle. And it's not only that—I tell you it makes me feel—horrid. After all, he's my—friend.

BETTY. He has been that always. You didn't feel—horrid—before…. Who is she?

WALTER. [Shortly, as he turns back to the fire.] That doesn't matter.

BETTY. Yes, it does. Who?

WALTER. [Fretfully.] Oh, why should we—

BETTY. I want to know—I'm entitled to know.

WALTER. [Still with his back to her.] Mary Gillingham.

BETTY. Mary Gillingham!

WALTER. [Firmly, swinging round to her.] Yes.

BETTY. That child, that chit of a girl!

WALTER. She's twenty-three.

BETTY. Whom I introduced you to—my own friend?

WALTER. [Grumbling.] What has that to do with it? And besides … [He suddenly changes his tone, noticing how calm she has become—he takes a step towards her, and stands by her side, at the back of the table, his voice becomes gentle and affectionate.] But I say, really, you're taking it awfully well—pluckily. I knew you would—I knew I was an ass to be so—afraid…. And look here, we'll always be pals—the very best of pals. I'll … never forget—never. You may be quite sure … of that. I want to get married—I