STEVE. ‘Well, then, I assure you on my word of honour that no lady was dining with me this evening, and that I have no wife.’
AMY, blankly, ‘No wife! You are sure? Oh, think.’
AMY. ‘I am very sorry.’ She sinks dispiritedly into a chair.
STEVE. ‘Sorry I have no wife?’ She nods through her tears. ‘Don’t cry. How could my having a wife be a boon to you?’
AMY, plaintively, ‘It would have put you in the hollow of my hands.’
STEVE, idiotically, ‘And they are nice hands, too.’
AMY, with a consciousness that he might once upon a time have been saved by a good woman, ‘I suppose that is how you got round her.’
STEVE, stamping his foot, ‘Haven’t I told you that she doesn’t exist?’
STEVE, soothingly, ‘Come now, we won’t go into that again. It was just a mistake; and now that it is all settled and done with, I’ll tell you what we shall do. You will let me get you a cab--’ She shakes her head. ‘I promise not to listen to the address; and after you have had a good night you--you will see things differently.’
AMY, ashamed of her momentary weakness, and deciding not to enter it in the diary, ‘You are very clever, Mr. Stephen Rollo, but I don’t leave this house without the letters.’
STEVE, groaning, ‘Are they your letters?’
AMY. ‘How dare you! They are the letters written to you, as you well know, by--’
AMY. ‘--by a certain lady. Spare me the pain, if you are a gentleman, of having to mention her name.’
AMY. ‘She is to pass out of your life to-night. To-morrow you go abroad for a long time.’
STEVE, with excusable warmth, ‘Oh, do I! Where am I going?’
AMY. ‘A friend and I who have been talking it over. We thought of Africa--to shoot big game.’
STEVE, humouring her, ‘You must be very fond of this lady.’
STEVE, feeling that he ought really to stick up a little for himself, ‘After all, am I so dreadful? Why shouldn’t she love me?’
AMY. ‘How can you play with me so, sir? She is my mother.’
STEVE. ‘I’m not--I didn’t mean to. I say, I wish you would tell me who you are.’
STEVE, in a dream, ‘Fond of me! I can’t believe it.’ Rather wistfully: ‘How could she be?’
AMY. ‘It was all your fault. Such men as you--pitiless men--you made her love you.’
STEVE, still elated, ‘Do you think I am that kind of man?’
AMY. ‘Oh, sir, let her go. You are strong and she is weak. Think of her poor husband, and give me back the letters.’