STRANGWAY. You were very good to come; but I would rather not.
MRS. BRADMERE. I know you're in as grievous trouble as a man can be.
STRANGWAY. Yes.
MRS. BRADMERE. [With a little sound of sympathy] What are you— thirty-five? I'm sixty-eight if I'm a day—old enough to be your mother. I can feel what you must have been through all these months, I can indeed. But you know you've gone the wrong way to work. We aren't angels down here below! And a son of the Church can't act as if for himself alone. The eyes of every one are on him.
STRANGWAY. [Taking the church key from the window.] Take this, please.
MRS. BRADMERE. No, no, no! Jarland deserved all he got. You had great provocation.
STRANGWAY. It's not Jarland. [Holding out the key] Please take it to the Rector. I beg his forgiveness. [Touching his breast] There's too much I can't speak of—can't make plain. Take it to him, please.
MRS. BRADMERE. Mr. Strangway—I don't accept this. I am sure my husband—the Church—will never accept——
STRANGWAY. Take it!
MRS. BRADMERE. [Almost unconsciously taking it] Mind! We don't accept it. You must come and talk to the Rector to-morrow. You're overwrought. You'll see it all in another light, then.