meet the difficulty?

MARCHBANKS. How?

MORELL (exploding good-humoredly). Why, you duffer--(But this
boisterousness jars himself as well as Eugene. He checks himself, and
resumes, with affectionate seriousness) No: I won't put it in that way.
My dear lad: in a happy marriage like ours, there is something very
sacred in the return of the wife to her home. (Marchbanks looks quickly
at him, half anticipating his meaning.) An old friend or a truly noble
and sympathetic soul is not in the way on such occasions; but a chance
visitor is. (The hunted, horror-stricken expression comes out with
sudden vividness in Eugene's face as he understands. Morell, occupied
with his own thought, goes on without noticing it.) Candida thought I
would rather not have you here; but she was wrong. I'm very fond of
you, my boy, and I should like you to see for yourself what a happy
thing it is to be married as I am.

MARCHBANKS, Happy!--YOUR marriage! You think that! You believe that!

MORELL (buoyantly). I know it, my lad. La Rochefoucauld said that there
are convenient marriages, but no delightful ones. You don't know the
comfort of seeing through and through a thundering liar and rotten
cynic like that fellow. Ha, ha! Now off with you to the park, and write
your poem. Half past one, sharp, mind: we never wait for anybody.

MARCHBANKS (wildly). No: stop: you shan't. I'll force it into the light.

MORELL (puzzled). Eh? Force what?

MARCHBANKS. I must speak to you. There is something that must be
settled between us.

MORELL (with a whimsical glance at the clock). Now?

MARCHBANKS (passionately). Now. Before you leave this room. (He
retreats a few steps, and stands as if to bar Morell's way to the door.)

MORELL (without moving, and gravely, perceiving now that there is
something serious the matter). I'm not going to leave it, my dear boy:
I thought YOU were. (Eugene, baffled by his firm tone, turns his back
on him, writhing with anger. Morell goes to him and puts his hand on
his shoulder strongly and kindly, disregarding his attempt to shake it
off) Come: sit down quietly; and tell me what it is. And remember; we
are friends, and need not fear that either of us will be anything but
patient and kind to the other, whatever we may have to say.

MARCHBANKS (twisting himself round on him). Oh, I am not forgetting
myself: I am only (covering his face desperately with his hands) full
of horror. (Then, dropping his hands, and thrusting his