FOSTER. What’s the matter, dear?
MAGGIE. [impatiently drawing her hand away.] It’s still the mood. I can’t help it. I don’t feel like love-making.
FOSTER. All right, dear—I won’t bother you.
MAGGIE. Perhaps if you did bother—no, never mind. You know I asked you not to come to-day.
FOSTER. Yes.
MAGGIE. Well, I had no reason, except that I didn’t feel like it. But I ought to feel like you always, didn’t I?
FOSTER. You’re different from me. I always feel like you.
MAGGIE. Walter, I don’t want to settle down. I want to go and—and do things.
FOSTER. What things, dear?