your ground far too well, and I've been properly brought up. (Lowering fan.) Haven't you any pity, Pip, except for yourself?
Capt. G.—Wouldn't it be rather impertinent of me to say that I'm sorry for you?
Mrs. H.—I think you have said it once or twice before. You're growing very careful of my feelings. Pip, I was a good woman once! You said I was. You've made me what I am. What are you going to do with me? What are you going to do with me? Won't you say that you are sorry? (Helps herself to iced asparagus.)
Capt. G.—I am sorry for you, if you want the pity of such a brute as I am. I'm awf'ly sorry for you.
Mrs. H.—Rather tame for a man of the world. Do you think that that admission clears you?
Capt. G.—What can I do? I can only tell you what I think of myself. You can't think worse than that?
Mrs. H.—Oh, yes, I can! And, now, will you tell me the reason of all this? Remorse? Has Bayard been suddenly conscience-stricken?
Capt. G. (angrily, his eyes still lowered).—No! The thing has come to an end on my side. That's all. Done with!
Mrs. H.—"That's all. Done with!" As though I were a Cairene Dragoman. You used to make prettier speeches. D'you remember when you said
Capt. G.—For Heaven's sake, don't bring that back! Call me anything you like, and I'll admit it
Mrs. H.—But you don't care to be reminded of old lies? If I could hope to hurt you one-tenth as much as you have hurt me to-night . . . No, I wouldn't—I couldn't do it, liar though you are.
Capt. G.—I've spoken the truth.
Mrs. H.—My dear Sir, you flatter yourself. You have lied over the reason. Pip, remember that I know you as you don't know yourself. You have been everything to me, though you are . . . (Fan-guard.) Oh, what a contemptible thing it is! And so you are merely tired of me?
