Stonor (putting pressure on himself to answer quietly). I still hoped—at that time—to win my father over. She blamed me because (goes to window and looks blindly out and speaks in a low tone) if the child had lived it wouldn't have been possible to get my father to—to overlook it.
Jean (faintly). You wanted it overlooked? I don't underst——
Stonor (turning passionately back to her). Of course you don't. (He seizes her hand and tries to draw her to him.) If you did, you wouldn't be the beautiful, tender, innocent child you are——
Jean (has withdrawn her hand and shrunk from him with an impulse—slight as is its expression—so tragically eloquent, that fear for the first time catches hold of him). I am glad you didn't mean to desert her, Geoffrey. It wasn't your fault after all—only some misunderstanding that can be cleared up.
Stonor. Cleared up?
Jean. Yes. Cleared up.
Stonor (aghast). You aren't thinking that this miserable old affair I'd as good as forgotten——
Jean (in a horror-struck whisper, with a glance at the door which he doesn't see). Forgotten!
Stonor. No, no. I don't mean exactly forgotten. But you're torturing me so I don't know what I'm saying. (He goes closer.) You aren't—Jean! you—you aren't going to let it come between you and me!
Jean (presses her handkerchief to her lips, and then, taking it away, answers steadily). I can't make or unmake what's past. But I'm glad, at least, that you didn't mean to desert her in her trouble. You'll remind her of that first of all, won't you? (Moves to the door, L.)