Margaret. [Slowly] I think you’re wicked. I think you’re both wicked.
Rector. Mrs. Fairfield!
Miss Fairfield. Control yourself, Margaret!
Margaret. [With a touch of wildness in her manner] You—do you love your wife?
Rector. Mrs. Fairfield!
Margaret. Do you?
Rector. Mrs. Pumphrey and I—most attached—
Margaret. Suppose you weren’t. Think of it—to want so desperately to feel—and to feel nothing. Do you know what it means to dread a person who loves you? To stiffen at the look in their eyes? To pity and—shudder? You should not judge.
Hilary, unseen, opens the door and shuts it again quickly.
Rector. I—I—