Miss L. You have taught us to look very calmly on the sacrifice of women. Men tell us in every tongue it's "a necessary evil."
(Stonor stands rooted, staring at the ground.)
Miss L. One girl's happiness—against a thing nobler than happiness for thousands—who can hesitate?—Not Jean.
Stonor. Good God! Can't you see that this crazed campaign you'd start her on—even if it's successful, it can only be so through the help of men? What excuse shall you make your own soul for not going straight to the goal?
Miss L. You think we wouldn't be glad to go straight to the goal?
Stonor. I do. I see you'd much rather punish me and see her revel in a morbid self-sacrifice.
Miss L. You say I want to punish you only because, like most men, you won't take the trouble to understand what we do want—or how determined we are to have it. You can't kill this new spirit among women. (Going nearer.) And you couldn't make a greater mistake than to think it finds a home only in the exceptional, or the unhappy. It's so strange, Geoffrey, to see a man like you as much deluded as the Hyde Park loafers who say to Ernestine Blunt, "Who's hurt your feelings?" Why not realise (going quite close to him) this is a thing that goes deeper than personal experience? And yet (lowering her voice and glancing at the door), if you take only the narrowest personal view, a good deal depends on what you and I agree upon in the next five minutes.
Stonor (bringing her farther away from the door). You recommend my realising the larger issues. But in your ambition to attach that girl to the chariot wheels of "Progress," you quite ignore the fact that people fitter for such work—the men you look to enlist in the end—are ready waiting to give the thing a chance.
Miss L. Men are ready! What men?
Stonor (avoiding her eyes, picking his words). Women have themselves to blame that the question has grown so delicate that responsible people shrink—for the moment—from being implicated in it.