Miss Woodward.
Not at all likely, Mr. Gunning. [Pause.] Goodnight. [Still without looking up.]
[Gunning looks at her, goes up to the window, turns, looks at her again.
Gunning.
[At window.] Good-night, Miss Woodward.
[Exit to garden, R.
[Miss Woodward goes on with her work for a few moments, then drops her face on her hand in her favourite attitude.
Miss Woodward.
[Soliloquising.] Rather than go back, I—well, I know I’d rather die. [She looks over the pages for a moment or two, then yawns slightly; she gathers her pages together and places a paperweight over them.] That will have to do. [She rises, looks off R.] There was actually a man ready to take a sort of languid interest in me. Quite a new experience. [She takes up Parbury’s photograph and speaks to it.] You don’t take an interest in me of any kind, do you? [To the photograph.] You never will, and I don’t think I want you to. But I do want to stay near you, because you are so strong—