Justina.
[Falteringly.] Then I can’t understand you.
Mrs. Cloys.
Why not, pray?
Justina.
I’ve always taken you for one of those who pick up their skirts and stalk away as far as possible from this kind of thing.
Mrs. Cloys.
Ah, you don’t—[moved]—oh, my dear!
Justina.
What?