is_ 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