JANET
You do. Time is running on with you, my dear. You’re twenty-eight. Just the age that I was when I met my lover. Yes, my lover. In a few years you will be too old for love, too old to have children. So soon it passeth away and we are gone. Your best years are slipping by and you are growing faded and cross and peevish. Already the lines are hardening about your mouth and the hollows coming under your eyes. You will be an old woman before your time unless you marry and have children. And what will you do then? Keep a lap-dog, I suppose, or sit up at night with a sick cockatoo like Miss Deanes. Miss Deanes! Even she has a heart somewhere about her. Do you imagine she wouldn’t rather give it to her babies than snivel over poultry? No, Hester, make good use of your youth, my dear. It won’t last always. And once gone it is gone for ever. (Hester bursts into tears.) There, there, Hester! I’m sorry. I oughtn’t to have spoken like that. It wasn’t kind. Forgive me. (Hester weep more and more violently.) Hester, don’t cry like that. I can’t bear to hear you. I was angry and said more than I should. I didn’t mean to vex you. Come, dear, you mustn’t give way like that or you’ll make yourself ill. Dry your eyes and let me see you smile. (Caressing her. Hester, who has begun by resisting her feebly, gradually allows herself to be soothed.) That’s better! My dear, what a sight you’ve made of yourself! But all women are hideous when they’ve been crying. It makes their noses red and that’s dreadfully unbecoming. (Hester sobs out a laugh). No. You mustn’t begin to cry again or I shall scold you. I shall, really.