. . . . . . . . . . . .

I _am_ calm. My eyes have simply been turned in upon myself for
four years. I see clearer than I used to.

_Philip._ Suppose I could come to you some day and say, Margaret,
I'm now an honest man. Would you live with me again?

_Marg._ The wife-heart has gone out of me, Philip.

_Philip._ I'll wait, Margaret. Perhaps it may come back again.
Who knows?

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

_Philip._ Is it degrading to forgive?

_Marg._ No; but it is to condone. Suppose _I_ had broken faith
with you?

_Philip._ Ah, Margaret!

_Marg._ I know! But suppose I had? Why should a wife bear the
whole stigma of infidelity? Isn't it just as revolting in a
husband?...

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Then can't you see that it is simply impossible for me to live
with you again? _Philip._ That's my sentence.... We'll be
friends?

_Marg._ Yes, friends. We'll respect each other as friends. We
never could as man and wife.

As they clasp hands, something latent, organic rushes over her.
She masters it, puts his hand aside: "Ring that bell!"

[Illustration: Mr. Herne and his daughter Dorothy as Joe and little
Lena on the Common. See page 557.]

Played as Mrs. Herne plays it, this act is the supreme climax toward
which the action moves from the first. It is her knowledge of its
significance, her belief in its justice, and her faith in its
beneficence that makes her reading so intellectually powerful and
penetrating. She seems to be all of the woman, and something of the
seer, as she stands there as Margaret whose blindness has somehow
given her inward light, and conviction, and strength. She seemed to be
speaking for all womankind, whose sorrowful history we are only just
beginning to read truthfully. It is no wonder that Mrs. Herne appealed
with such power to the thinking women of Boston. Never before has
their case been so stated in America.

One of the most noticeable and gratifying results of Mr. and Mrs.
Herne's performance was the forced abandonment by the critics of
conventional standards of criticism. Every thoughtful word, even by
those most severe, was made from the realist's standpoint. It forced a
comparison with life and that was a distinct gain.

[Illustration: Margaret. Act V. "It i