BILL. I've told you all there is to tell. We're engaged, we shall be married quietly, and—and—go to Canada.
LADY CHESHIRE. If there weren't more than that to tell you'd be in love with her now.
BILL. I've told you that I am.
LADY CHESHIRE. You are not. [Almost fiercely] I know—I know there's more behind.
BILL. There—is—nothing.
LADY CHESHIRE. [Baffled, but unconvinced] Do you mean that your love for her has been just what it might have been for a lady?
BILL. [Bitterly] Why not?
LADY CHESHIRE. [With painful irony] It is not so as a rule.
BILL. Up to now I've never heard you or the girls say a word against
Freda. This isn't the moment to begin, please.
LADY CHESHIRE. [Solemnly] All such marriages end in wretchedness. You haven't a taste or tradition in common. You don't know what marriage is. Day after day, year after year. It's no use being sentimental—for people brought up as we are to have different manners is worse than to have different souls. Besides, it's poverty. Your father will never forgive you, and I've practically nothing. What can you do? You have no profession. How are you going to stand it; with a woman who—? It's the little things.