WALTER. [Trying to edge away.] Well, it does. Yes.
BETTY. [Dreamily.] I—like it.
WALTER. Betty!
BETTY. Yes, I like it. I don't know why. I suppose I'm frightfully wicked.
Or the danger perhaps—I don't know.
WALTER. [Making a futile effort to get up.] Betty—
BETTY. [Tightening her arms around him.] Stop there, and don't move. How smooth your chin is—his scrapes. Why don't husbands shave better? Or is it that the forbidden chin is always smoother? Poor old Hector! If he could see us! He hasn't a suspicion. I think it's lovely—really, I do. He leaves us here together, night after night, and imagines you're teaching me bridge.
WALTER. [Restlessly.] So I am. Where are the cards?
BETTY. [Caressing him.] Silly, have you forgotten that this is Tuesday—Maggie's night out? She's gone—I told her she needn't wait to clear away. We've arranged master's supper. Master! You're my master, aren't you?
WALTER. … I don't know what I am …
BETTY. Oh yes you do—you're my boy. Whom I love. There. [She kisses him again, full on the lips.] That was a nice one, wasn't it? Poor old Hector, sitting in his stall—thinks he's so wonderful, knows such a lot! Yes, Maggie's out—with her young man, I suppose. The world's full of women, with their young men—and husbands sitting in the stalls…. And I suppose that's how it always has been, and always will be.