Annys. (Upon her also the fear has fallen.) It must not. (She flings her arms around him.) We must show the world that man and woman can meet—contend in public life without anger, without scorn.
Geoffrey. (He folds her to him.) The very words sound ugly, don’t they?
Annys. It would be hideous. (She draws away.) How long will the election last?
Geoffrey. Not long. The writ will be issued on Wednesday. Nomination on Monday—polling, I expect, on Saturday. Puts me in mind—I must prepare my election address.
Annys. I ought to be getting on with mine, too, I suppose.
Geoffrey. It ought to be out by to-morrow.
Annys. (With inspiration.) We’ll do yours first. (She wonders why he hesitates.)
Geoffrey. “We?” Shan’t I have to do it alone—this time?
Annys. Alone! Nonsense! How can you?
Geoffrey. I’m afraid I shall have to try.