Paula.
It may save discussion by-and-by, don't you think? [Holding out the letter.] There you are.
Aubrey.
No, dear, no.
Paula.
Take it. [He takes the letter.] Read it through after I've gone, and then—read it again, and turn the matter over in your mind finally. And if, even at the very last moment, you feel you—oughtn't to go to church with me, send a messenger to Pont Street, any time before eleven to-morrow, telling me that you're afraid, and I—I'll take the blow.
Aubrey.
Why, what—what do you think I am?
Paula.
That's it. It's because I know you're such a dear good fellow that I want to save you the chance of ever feeling sorry you married me. I really love you so much, Aubrey, that to save you that I'd rather you treated me as—as the others have done.