BETTY. You tell her she is the only girl you have loved.
WALTER. [Moving back to the fire, with his back to her.] I tell her—I tell her—what does it matter what I tell her? And one girl or another—she or someone else—
BETTY. But you haven't answered my question—what's to become of me?
WALTER. [Angrily, facing her.] Become of you! Don't talk such nonsense. Because it is—really it is. You'll be as you were. And Hector's a splendid chap—and after all we've been frightfully wrong—treating him infernally badly—despicably. Oh yes, we have—and you know it. Lord, there've been nights when I have—but never mind that—that's all over! In future we can look him in the face without feeling guilty—we can—
BETTY. [Quietly.] You can.
WALTER. What do you mean?
BETTY. You can, because of this girl. Oh, I know, of course! You'll come here three or four times—then you'll drop off—you'll feel I'm not quite the woman you want your wife to know.
WALTER. [With genuine feeling, as he impulsively steps towards her.] Betty, Betty, what sort of cad do you take me for? What sort of cad, or bounder? Haven't I told you I'd never forget—never? And you think you'll pass out of my life—that I want you to? Why, good Heaven, I'll be your best friend as long as I live. Friend—yes—what I always should have been—meant to be! And Hector. Why, Betty, I tell you, merely talking to-night, as I've done, has made me feel—different—sort of—lifted—a load. Because I've always had it—somewhere deep down in me—when I've thought of—him.
BETTY. [Calmly.] Liar.
WALTER. [Falling back.] Betty!