All right. [_The BUTLER disappears._] To church! My God!
[_HELEN pays no attention. She gazes straight out into the future, head high, eyes clear and wide open._
First of all, when the others come out, I'm going to ask them to look you in the face. Then you can make this statement to them, if you wish, and--look them in the face.
If I were being forced into such a marriage as poor little Jean's, I would kill myself. But in the eyes of God, who made love, no matter how I may appear in the eyes of man, who made marriage, I know that I am doing right.
[_LUCY comes out, followed by the JUDGE._
Say that to Uncle Everett and Cousin Theodore! Say that to my wife, stand up and say that to the world, if you dare.
What! did she tell you? Why didn't you come to me at once?
She said she wanted to tell you herself. I didn't think she'd dare!
[_They all turn to look at HELEN. THEODORE comes back from church alone._
Yes, John has given his consent at last--example to society.
Of course! One of the finest fellows in the world.
And withal he has a deep religious nature. Congratulations. My dear, he'll make an ideal husband.
[_Takes both HELEN'S hands, about to kiss her._
Thank you, cousin, but I don't want a husband.
No, Theodore, these lovers are in perfect accord. They both have conscientious scruples against marriage.
So they are simply going to set up housekeeping without the mere formality of a wedding ceremony.
We are not going to set up housekeeping at all. He will keep his present quarters and I mine.
But they are going to belong to each other.
The strike against marriage. It was bound to come.
But Church and State--[_indicates self and JUDGE_] must break this strike.
John is a practical man. He will prove to you that such a home as we could afford would only be a stumbling-block to Ernest's usefulness, a hollow sphere for mine. You can't fill it with mere happiness, Lucy, not for long, not for long.
Oh, let her get it all nicely talked out, then she'll take a nap and wake up feeling better. [_Whispering._] We've driven her to this ourselves, but she really doesn't mean a word of it. Come, dear child, tell us all about this nightmare.
Why, think what would happen to an eager intellect like Ernest Hamilton's if he had to come back to a narrow-minded apartment or a dreary suburb every evening and eat morbid meals opposite a housewife regaling him with the social ambitions of the other commuters. Ugh! It has ruined enough brilliant men already. [_JUDGE restrains THEODORE and others who want to interrupt._] Now at the University Club he dines, at slight expense compared with keeping up a home, upon the best food in the city with some of the best scientists in the country.... Marriage would divorce him from all that, would transplant him from an atmosphere of ideas into an atmosphere of worries. We should be forced into the same deadly ruts as the rest of you, uncle. Do you want me to destroy a great career, Theodore?