esently be married to
Ann whether I like it myself or not.

MRS WHITEFIELD. [peacefully] Oh, very likely you will: you know what she
is when she has set her mind on anything. But don't put it on me: that's
all I ask. Tavy has just let out that she's been saying that I am making
her marry you; and the poor boy is breaking his heart about it; for he
is in love with her himself, though what he sees in her so wonderful,
goodness knows: I don't. It's no use telling Tavy that Ann puts things
into people's heads by telling them that I want them when the thought of
them never crossed my mind. It only sets Tavy against me. But you know
better than that. So if you marry her, don't put the blame on me.

TANNER. [emphatically] I haven't the slightest intention of marrying
her.

MRS WHITEFIELD. [slyly] She'd suit you better than Tavy. She'd meet her
match in you, Jack. I'd like to see her meet her match.

TANNER. No man is a match for a woman, except with a poker and a pair of
hobnailed boots. Not always even then. Anyhow, I can't take the poker to
her. I should be a mere slave.

MRS WHITEFIELD. No: she's afraid of you. At all events, you would tell
her the truth about herself. She wouldn't be able to slip out of it as
she does with me.

TANNER. Everybody would call me a brute if I told Ann the truth about
herself in terms of her own moral code. To begin with, Ann says things
that are not strictly true.

MRS WHITEFIELD. I'm glad somebody sees she is not an angel.

TANNER. In short--to put it as a husband would put it when exasperated
to the point of speaking out--she is a liar. And since she has plunged
Tavy head over ears in love with her without any intention of marrying
him, she is a coquette, according to the standard definition of
a coquette as a woman who rouses passions she has no intention of
gratifying. And as she has now reduced you to the point of being willing
to sacrifice me at the altar for the mere satisfaction of getting me to
call her a liar to her face, I may conclude that she is a bully as
well. She can't bully men as she bullies women; so she habitually
and unscrupulously uses her personal fascination to make men give her
whatever she wants. That makes her almost something for which I know no
polite name.

MRS WHITEFIELD. [in mild expostulation] Well, you can't expect
perfection, Jack.

TANNER. I don't. But what annoys me is that Ann does. I know perfectly
well that all this about her being a liar an