Miss Woodward.
[Passionately.] Please don’t—don’t even try to guess.
Parbury.
[The light breaking in on him slowly.] I think I understand.
[Miss Woodward turns up stage and stands with head bowed, her back to the audience. There is a long pause. At first Parbury doesn’t appear ill-pleased. He looks down at the rose in his buttonhole, and begins to raise it half-tenderly to his face. Then his face becomes grave, and he slowly removes the flower from his coat, and places it on the table against which Miss Woodward is standing. He takes one of her hands.
Parbury.
I don’t ask anything—I don’t guess anything, my dear child—my little sister. I was wrong to press you to tell me your trouble; for what could a hardened, rough-natured man do with the secrets of a young girl’s heart?
Miss Woodward.
Don’t speak like that; only say that I may go.
Parbury.