MAGGIE. Look at me, John, for the first time. What do you see?
JOHN. I see a woman who has brought her husband low.
MAGGIE. Only that?
JOHN. I see the tragedy of a man who has found himself out. Eh, I can’t live with you again, Maggie.
[He shivers.]
MAGGIE. Why did you shiver, John?
JOHN. It was at myself for saying that I couldn’t live with you again, when I should have been wondering how for so long you have lived with me. And I suppose you have forgiven me all the time. [She nods.] And forgive me still? [She nods again.] Dear God!
MAGGIE. John, am I to go? or are you to keep me on? [She is now a little bundle near his feet.] I’m willing to stay because I’m useful to you, if it can’t be for a better reason. [His hand feels for her, and the bundle wriggles nearer.] It’s nothing unusual I’ve done, John. Every man who is high up loves to think that he has done it all himself; and the wife smiles, and lets it go at that. It’s our only joke. Every woman knows that. [He stares at her in hopeless perplexity.] Oh, John, if only you could laugh at me.
JOHN. I can’t laugh, Maggie.
[But as he continues to stare at her a strange disorder appears in his face. MAGGIE feels that it is to be now or never.]