MRS. FULLARTON. My dear girl! Mr. Twisden is not personally concerned. How can you?
CLARE. If I were dying, and it would save me, I wouldn't take a penny from my husband.
TWISDEN. Nothing could be more bitter than those words. Do you really wish me to take them back to him?
CLARE. Yes. [She turns from them to the fire]
MRS. FULLARTON. [In a low voice to TWISDEN] Please leave me alone with her, don't say anything to Mr. Dedmond yet.
TWISDEN. Mrs. Dedmond, I told you once that I wished you well. Though you have called me a coward, I still do that. For God's sake, think—before it's too late.
CLARE. [Putting out her hand blindly] I'm sorry I called you a coward. It's the whole thing, I meant.
TWISDEN. Never mind that. Think!
With the curious little movement of one who sees something he does not like to see, he goes. CLARE is leaning her forehead against the mantel-shelf, seemingly unconscious that she is not alone. MRS. FULLARTON approaches quietly till she can see CLARE'S face.
MRS. FULLARTON. My dear sweet thing, don't be cross with met [CLARE turns from her. It is all the time as if she were trying to get away from words and people to something going on within herself] How can I help wanting to see you saved from all this ghastliness?