COMTESSE. Good-bye, Scotchy.
MAGGIE. Good-bye, Comtesse, and thank you for coming.
COMTESSE. Good-bye—Miss Pin.
[MAGGIE rings genteelly.]
MAGGIE. Good-bye.
[The COMTESSE is now lost in admiration of her.]
COMTESSE. You divine little wife. He can’t be worthy of it, no man could be worthy of it. Why do you do it?
[MAGGIE shivers a little.]
MAGGIE. He loves to think he does it all himself; that’s the way of men. I’m six years older than he is. I’m plain, and I have no charm. I shouldn’t have let him marry me. I’m trying to make up for it.
[The COMTESSE kisses her and goes away. MAGGIE, somewhat foolishly, resumes her knitting.]