You'll see me then, at last, with other people's eyes; you'll see me just as your daughter does now, as all wholesome folks see women like me. And I shall have no weapon to fight with—not one serviceable little bit of prettiness left me to defend myself with! A worn-out creature—broken up, very likely, some time before I ought to be—my hair bright, my eyes dull, my body too thin or too stout, my cheeks raddled and ruddled—a ghost, a wreck, a caricature, a candle that gutters, call such an end what you like! Oh, Aubrey, what shall I be able to say to you then? And this is the future you talk about! I know it—I know it! [He is still sitting staring forward; she rocks herself to and fro as if in pain.] Oh, Aubrey! Oh! Oh!
Aubrey.
Paula——!
[Trying to comfort her.
Paula.
Oh, and I wanted so much to sleep to-night! [Laying her head upon his shoulder. From the distance, in the garden, there comes the sound of Drummle's voice; he is singing as he approaches the house.] That's Cayley, coming back from The Warren. [Starting up.] He doesn't know, evidently. I—I won't see him!
[She goes out quickly. Drummle's voice comes nearer. Aubrey rouses himself and snatches up a book from the table, making a pretence of reading. After a moment or two, Drummle appears at the window and looks in.
Drummle.
Aha! my dear chap!