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VIVIEN.
Oh, is that what’s bothering you?

GUENEVERE.
I should rather think it would bother you, Vivien!

VIVIEN.
But it so happens that it doesn’t. I’m not breaking up a marriage. There isn’t any marriage there to break up. I know all about it. Lancelot told me. That marriage was ended long ago. It’s simply that he has never got a divorce.

GUENEVERE.
But–but if that’s true, why hasn’t he got a divorce?

VIVIEN.
On purpose, Gwen–as a protection! Against love-sick females like me.
Against getting married again. I told you he wanted to work.

GUENEVERE.
But Vivien! If he hasn’t got a divorce–

VIVIEN.
He’ll have to get one, that’s all. It won’t take long.
And in the meantime we can be engaged.

GUENEVERE.
A funny sort of engagement, Vivien–to a married man!

VIVIEN.
I think you’re very unkind, Gwen. It isn’t funny at all. It’s a nuisance. We’ll have to wait at least a month! I think you might sympathize with me. I believe you’re in love with him yourself.

GUENEVERE.
( coldly )

Vivien!

VIVIEN.
( contritely )
I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. But I do think he’s so terribly nice–I don’t see how any woman can help being in love with him. Well–I’m off to his studio, to learn my fate. Wish me luck, if you can!

She goes.

GUENEVERE.
( looks after her, then drifts over to the mantel, leans

against it staring out into space, and then murmurs )

–Lancelot!

She goes slowly back to her chair, sits still a moment, and then quietly resumes the darning of socks.

Enter, from the side door, Mary, the pretty servant girl, who fusses about at the back of the room
.

GUENEVERE.
( absently )

Going, Mary?

MARY.
No, ma’am. I don’t feel like going out tonight.

Something in her tone makes Guenevere turn.

GUENEVERE.
( kindly )

Why, Mary, what is the matter?

MARY.
( struggling with her sobs )

I’m sorry, ma’am, I can’t help it–I wasn’t going to say anything.
But when you spoke to me–

GUENEVERE.
( quietly )

What is it, Mary?

MARY.
I’m a wicked girl.

( She sobs again.)

GUENEVERE.
( after a moment’s reflection.)

Yes? Tell me about it.

MARY.
Shall I tell you?

GUENEVERE.
Yes. I think you’d better tell me.

MARY.
I wanted to tell you.

( She comes to Guenevere, and sinks beside her chair.)

I wanted to tell you before Mr. Robinson came back.
I couldn’t tell you if he was here.

GUENEVERE.
( smiling )

My husband? Are you afraid of him, Mary?

MARY.
Yes, ma’am.

GUENEVERE.
( to herself )

Poor Arthur! He does frighten people. He looks so–just.

MARY.
That’s what it is, ma’am. He always makes me think of my father.

GUENEVERE.
Is your father a just man, too, Mary?

MARY.
Yes, ma’am. He’s that just I’d never dare breathe a word to him
about what I’ve done. He’d put me out of the house.