ught; that
your blood runs cold when she kisses you--then you'll know.

HUNTINGDON. My dear old girl, I don't want to be a brute; but it's a
bit difficult to believe in that, except in novels.

CLARE. Yes, incredible, when you haven't tried.

HUNTINGDON. I mean, you--you chose him yourself. No one forced you
to marry him.

CLARE. It does seem monstrous, doesn't it?

HUNTINGDON. My dear child, do give us a reason.

CLARE. Look! [She points out at the night and the darkening towers]
If George saw that for the first time he'd just say, "Ah,
Westminster! Clock Tower! Can you see the time by it?" As if one
cared where or what it was--beautiful like that! Apply that to every
--every--everything.

HUNTINGDON. [Staring] George may be a bit prosaic. But, my dear old
girl, if that's all----

CLARE. It's not all--it's nothing. I can't explain, Reggie--it's
not reason, at all; it's--it's like being underground in a damp cell;
it's like knowing you'll never get out. Nothing coming--never
anything coming again-never anything.

HUNTINGDON. [Moved and puzzled] My dear old thing; you mustn't get
into fantods like this. If it's like that, don't think about it.

CLARE. When every day and every night!--Oh! I know it's my fault
for having married him, but that doesn't help.

HUNTINGDON. Look here! It's not as if George wasn't quite a decent
chap. And it's no use blinking things; you are absolutely dependent
on him. At home they've got every bit as much as they can do to keep
going.

CLARE. I know.

HUNTINGDON. And you've got to think of the girls. Any trouble would
be very beastly for them. And the poor old Governor would feel it
awfully.

CLARE. If I didn't know all that, Reggie, I should have gone home
long ago.

HUNTINGDON. Well, what's to be done? If my pay would run to it--but
it simply won't.

CLARE. Thanks, old boy, of course not.

HUNTINGDON. Can't you try to see George's side of it a bit?

CLARE. I do. Oh! don't let's talk about it.

HUNTINGDON. Well, my child, there's just one thing you won't go
sailing near the wind, will you? I mean, there are fellows always on
the lookout.

CLARE. "That chap, Malise, you'd better avoid him!" Why?

HUNTINGDON. Well! I don't know him. He may be all right, but he's
not our sort. And you're too pretty to go on the tack of the New
Woman and that kind of thing--haven't been brought up to it.

CLARE. British home-made summer