As he wanders on so optimistically she stares at him and her face changes. She realises . .
amy. Do you expect me to go through with this? Henry! . . I'd sooner kill myself.
There is silence between them. He looks at her as one looks at some unnatural thing. Then after a moment he speaks, very coldly.
trebell. Oh . . indeed. Don't get foolish ideas into your head. You've no choice now . . no reasonable choice.
amy. [Driven to bay; her last friend an enemy.] I won't go through with it.
trebell. It hasn't been so much the fear of scandal then—
amy. That wouldn't break my heart. You'd marry me, wouldn't you? We could go away somewhere. I could be very fond of you, Henry.
trebell. [Marvelling at these tangents.] Marry you! I should murder you in a week.
This sounds only brutal to her; she lets herself be shamed.
amy. You've no more use for me than the use you've made of me.