ALICE. It is you—my husband!
(She is overcome.)
MRS. COADE. My dear, you are much better off, so far as I can see, than if you were Mrs. Finch-Fallowe.
ALICE (with passionate knowledge). Yes, yes indeed! (Generously.) But he isn't.
DEARTH. Alice! ... I—(He tries to smile.) I didn't know you when I was in the wood with Margaret. She ... she ... Margaret... (The hammer falls.)
O my God!
(He buries his face in his hands.)
ALICE. I wish—I wish—
(She presses his shoulder fiercely and then stalks out by the door.)
PURDIE (to LOB, after a time). You old ruffian.