MARY. And then he woke up—and he was angry at me. He swore at me. And then he laughed, and kissed me again, and put me out of the room.
GUENEVERE. Yes, yes. And that—that was all?
MARY. I came home. I thought I would have died. I knew I had been wicked. Oh, Mrs. Robinson—(She breaks down and sobs.)
GUENEVERE. (patting her head) Poor child, it's all right. You aren't so wicked as you think. Oh, I'm so glad!
MARY. But it's jest the same, Mrs. Robinson. I wanted to be wicked.
GUENEVERE. Never mind, Mary. We all want to be wicked at times. But something always happens. It's all right. You're a good girl, Mary. There, stop crying!… Of course, of course! I might have known. Lancelot couldn't—and yet, I wonder…. Mary, stand up and let me look at you!
MARY. (obeying) Yes, ma'am.
GUENEVERE. (in a strange tone) You're a very good-looking girl, Mary…. So he laughed, and gave you a kiss, and led you to the door!… Well! Go to bed and think no more about it. It's all right.
MARY. Do you really think so, Mrs. Robinson? Isn't it the same thing if you want to be wicked—
GUENEVERE. You're talking like a professor of philosophy now, Mary. And you're a woman, and you ought to know better. No, it isn't the same thing, at all. Run along, child.