BETTY. [Moving towards him in alarm.] What's the matter?
WALTER. [With a swift turn towards her.] I'm going to get married.
BETTY. [Stonily, stopping by the round table.] You …
WALTER. [Savagely.] Going to get married, yes. Married, married!
[She stands there and doesn't stir—doesn't speak or try to speak; merely stands there, and looks at him, giving no sign. Her silence irritates him; he becomes more and more violent, as though to give himself courage.
WALTER. You're wonderful, you women—you really are. Always contrive to make us seem brutes, or cowards! I've wanted to tell you this a dozen times—I've not had the pluck. Well, to-day I must. Must, do you hear that?… Oh, for Heaven's sake, say something.
BETTY. [Still staring helplessly at him.] You …
WALTER. [Feverishly.] Yes, I, I! Now it's out, at least—it's spoken! I mean to get married, like other men—fooled, too, I dare say, like the others—at least I deserve it! But I'm tired, I tell you—tired—
BETTY. Of me?
WALTER. Tired of the life I lead—the beastly, empty rooms—the meals at the Club. And I'm thirty-eight—it's now or never.