d into heartbreaking
dread at Eugene's bid, loses all power of concealing his anxiety.
Eugene, strung to the highest tension, does not move a muscle.

MORELL (in a suffocated voice--the appeal bursting from the depths of
his anguish). Candida!

MARCHBANKS (aside, in a flash of contempt). Coward!

CANDIDA (significantly). I give myself to the weaker of the two.

Eugene divines her meaning at once: his face whitens like steel in a
furnace that cannot melt it.

MORELL (bowing his head with the calm of collapse). I accept your
sentence, Candida.

CANDIDA. Do you understand, Eugene?

MARCHBANKS. Oh, I feel I'm lost. He cannot bear the burden.

MORELL (incredulously, raising his bead with prosaic abruptness). Do
you mean, me, Candida?

CANDIDA (smiling a little). Let us sit and talk comfortably over it
like three friends. (To Morell.) Sit down, dear. (Morell takes the
chair from the fireside--the children's chair.) Bring me that chair,
Eugene. (She indicates the easy chair. He fetches it silently, even
with something like cold strength, and places it next Morell, a little
behind him. She sits down. He goes to the sofa and sits there, still
silent and inscrutable. When they are all settled she begins, throwing
a spell of quietness on them by her calm, sane, tender tone.) You
remember what you told me about yourself, Eugene: how nobody has cared
for you since your old nurse died: how those clever, fashionable
sisters and successful brothers of yours were your mother's and
father's pets: how miserable you were at Eton: how your father is
trying to starve you into returning to Oxford: how you have had to live
without comfort or welcome or refuge, always lonely, and nearly always
disliked and misunderstood, poor boy!

MARCHBANKS (faithful to the nobility of his lot). I had my books. I had
Nature. And at last I met you.

CANDIDA. Never mind that just at present. Now I want you to look at
this other boy here--MY boy--spoiled from his cradle. We go once a
fortnight to see his parents. You should come with us, Eugene, and see
the pictures of the hero of that household. James as a baby! the most
wonderful of all babies. James holding his first school prize, won at
the ripe age of eight! James as the captain of his eleven! James in his
first frock coat! James under all sorts of glorious circumstances! You
know how strong he is (I hope he didn't hurt you)--how clever he
is--how happy! (With deepening gravity.) Ask James's m