Listen, my dear, listen. What’s been the result? You’ve taken from me my habits. You’ve taken from me my friends. You’ve taken from me my clubs. You’ve taken from me my self-esteem, my joy in life, my high spirits, the cheery devil that God implanted in me; but, damn it, you must leave me my secretary.
Mrs. Parbury.
[Excitedly walking the stage.] Oh, I understand now. You use this exaggerated language, you make these cruel accusations, you work yourself into a passion, because you have grown to think more of Miss Woodward than of me.
Parbury.
Now you know that to be a purely fantastic interpretation of what I said. [She takes out handkerchief.] I observe with pain, too, that you are about to cry again.
Mrs. Parbury.
[Puts handkerchief up her sleeve, controls her anger, and becomes very determined.] You are quite wrong. Probably I shall never again know the relief of tears. Your callousness and obstinacy seem to have dried up all the tenderness in me. Miss Woodward leaves this house in the morning, or I leave it to-night.
Parbury.
[Coming to her.] Oh, come, come, Mabel, that is too ridiculous.