ANNETTE. Tell me, then, everything. How did she begin?
LUCIE. Are you in such a hurry to leave me? You don’t love me any more?
ANNETTE [gravely] Oh, if I hadn’t got you, what would become of me? [A silence]. But you’re not telling me anything. There must be something. You’re keeping the truth from me. If there wasn’t something, you’d say there wasn’t—you wouldn’t try to put me off—you’d tell me just what Madame Bernin said.
LUCIE. Well, then, there is something.
ANNETTE [breaking into tears] Oh, heavens!
LUCIE. You’re both very young. You must wait. A year, perhaps longer.
ANNETTE [crying] Wait! A year!
LUCIE. Come, come, you must not be so uncontrolled, Annette. You’ll make me displeased with you. Why, you are barely nineteen. If you wait to be married till you are twenty, there’ll be no great harm.
ANNETTE. It isn’t possible.
LUCIE. Not possible? [With a long look at her] Annette, you frighten me. If it were not you— [With tender gravity] I can’t have been wrong to trust you?