He. But, Jenny—(Brusquely.) Confound it! I have no patience with you!
She. So I have discovered. But you need not lose your temper here, and swear. Go outside and do it, and leave me alone, as I am every evening.
He. You talk as if I ill-treated you.
She (sarcastically). Do I? That is very wicked of me, isn’t it? You take the best possible care of me, you are ever thinking of me, and you never leave my side for a moment. Oh no, you do not ill-treat me—or abuse me—or neglect me (breaking down)—or make me miserable. There is nothing the matter with me, of course. But you never will believe I have a heart until you have broken it! (Sinking on chair, C.)
He (crossing to her). You are excited, I see; still, I must say this is a little too much.
She (starting up). Don’t come near me! (Sarcastically.) Don’t let me keep you from your work (going to door R. 2d E), and don’t fail to send me a cab. At last I revolt against your neglect.
He (indignantly protesting). My neglect? Do you mean to say I neglect you? My conscience does not reproach me.
She (at the door on the right). That’s because you haven’t any! (Exit, slamming door).
He (alone). I never saw her go on that way before. What can be the matter with her? She is not like herself at all: she is low-spirited and nervous. Now, I never could see why women had any nerves. I wonder if she really thinks that I neglect her? I should be sorry, very sorry, if she did. I’ll not go out to-night: I’ll stay at home and have a quiet evening at my own fireside. (Sits in chair in the centre.) I think that will bring her round. I’d like to know what has made her act like this. Has she been reading any sentimental trash, I wonder? (Sees book in work-basket.) Now, here’s some yellow-covered literature. (Takes it up.) Why, it’s that confounded play, Husbands and Wives. Let me see the silly stuff. (Reads:) “My darling, one more embrace, one last, long, loving kiss;” and then he hugs her and kisses her. (Rising.) And she thinks I’ll have her play a part like that? How should I look while that was going on? Can’t she find something else? (At work-table.) Here is another. (Takes up second pamphlet.) No, it is a Guide to the Passions. I fear I need no guide to get into a passion. I doubt if there’s as much hugging and kissing in this as in the other one. (Reads:) “It is impossible to describe all the effects of the various passions, but a few hints are here given as to how the more important may be delineated.” (Spoken.) This is interesting. If ever I have to delineate a passion I shall fall back on this guide. (Reads:) “Love is a—” (Reads hastily and unintelligibly:) “When successful, love authorizes the fervent embrace of the beloved!” The deuce it does! And I find my wife getting instruction from this Devil’s text-book! A little more and I should be jealous. (Looks at book.) Ah, here is jealousy: now let’s see how I ought to feel. (Reads:) “Jealousy is a mixture of passions and—” (Reads hastily and unintelligibly.) Not so bad! I believe I could act up to these instructions. (Jumping up.) And I will! My wife wants acting: she shall have it! She complains of monotony: she shall have variety! “Jealousy is a mixture of passions.” I’ll be jealous: I’ll give her a mixture of passions. I’ll take a leaf out of her book, and I’ll find a cure for these nerves of her’s. I’ll learn my part at once: we’ll have some private theatricals to order. (Walks up and down, studying book.)
She re-renters, with bonnet on and cloak over her arm, and stands in surprise, watching him.