Candida (with anguish in
his voice) I had rather you had plunged a grappling iron into my heart
than given me that kiss.

CANDIDA (rising, alarmed). My dear: what's the matter?

MORELL (frantically waving her off). Don't touch me.

CANDIDA (amazed). James!

(They are interrupted by the entrance of Marchbanks, with Burgess, who
stops near the door, staring, whilst Eugene hurries forward between
them.)

MARCHBANKS. Is anything the matter?

MORELL (deadly white, putting an iron constraint on himself). Nothing
but this: that either you were right this morning, or Candida is mad.

BURGESS (in loudest protest). Wot! Candy mad too! Oh, come, come, come!
(He crosses the room to the fireplace, protesting as he goes, and
knocks the ashes out of his pipe on the bars. Morell sits down
desperately, leaning forward to hide his face, and interlacing his
fingers rigidly to keep them steady.)

CANDIDA (to Morell, relieved and laughing). Oh, you're only shocked! Is
that all? How conventional all you unconventional people are!

BURGESS. Come: be'ave yourself, Candy. What'll Mr. Morchbanks think of
you?

CANDIDA. This comes of James teaching me to think for myself, and never
to hold back out of fear of what other people may think of me. It works
beautifully as long as I think the same things as he does. But now,
because I have just thought something different!--look at him--just
look!

(She points to Morell, greatly amused. Eugene looks, and instantly
presses his band on his heart, as if some deadly pain had shot through
it, and sits down on the sofa like a man witnessing a tragedy.)

BURGESS (on the hearth-rug). Well, James, you certainly ain't as
himpressive lookin' as usu'l.

MORELL (with a laugh which is half a sob). I suppose not. I beg all
your pardons: I was not conscious of making a fuss. (Pulling himself
together.) Well, well, well, well, well! (He goes back to his place at
the table, setting to work at his papers again with resolute
cheerfulness.)

CANDIDA (going to the sofa and sitting beside Marchbanks, still in a
bantering humor). Well, Eugene, why are you so sad? Did the onions make
you cry?

(Morell cannot prevent himself from watching them.)

MARCHBANKS (aside to her). It is your cruelty. I hate cruelty. It is a
horrible thing to see one person make another suffer.

CANDIDA (petting him ironically). Poor boy, have I been cruel? Did I
make it slice nasty little red onions?

MARCHBANKS (earnestly). Oh