AUDR. The whole thing was delightfully novel. (He frowns.) Do you mean to repeat this morning’s scene?
MICH. Scene?
AUDR. It was a “scene,” you know. I felt terribly distressed for the poor girl. And yet I envied her.
MICH. Envied her?
AUDR. (leaning a little more in at the window). You must allow she was the heroine of the occasion, though you were certainly very impressive yourself, and did your part very well. Still, after all, it’s the man who is to be hanged who is the central figure in the proceedings. And the poor little creature looked exquisitely pathetic and graceful, and so sweetly innocent—quite good enough to go to heaven right away, I thought. A Sunday-school teacher told me once that it is nearly always the good girls who are betrayed. Is that so?
MICH. (coldly). You came to speak to me about yourself.
AUDR. So I did. Do you know when I saw that girl standing there and looking so interesting, I felt I wouldn’t mind making a public confession myself—if you thought it would benefit the parish—and if you would allow me to wear a special dress for the occasion?
(MICHAEL turns round quickly as if about to speak angrily to her, stops, remains silent.)
AUDR. (musingly). I suppose one couldn’t confess in anything except black or white. It couldn’t be done in red or yellow—or blue. Pale grey might do. (Pause.) What do you think?
(MICHAEL does not reply.)