Mrs. V. T. Why not?
Fred. Because I don’t deserve them. Do you remember our first meeting?
Mrs. V. T. (aside). Gracious! I hope I’m not to be cross-examined. (Aloud, hesitatingly.) It was on a yacht, wasn’t it?
Fred. After that cruise I came back to my desk and bachelor quarters, but neither they nor I have been the same since. It’s always seemed to me as if a bit of heaven had come into my life in those days. Every hour since has been consecrated to an ideal. I have worked as I was never able to work before. And why? Because I was straining every fibre to win money and position enough to be able to come to you and say: “Miss Wortley, I love you as a man must love one so sweet and beautiful. I’m not rich, but if you can care for me enough to make a few sacrifices I will try and keep you from regretting them, by love and tenderness.”
Mrs. V. T. But, Mr. Stevens, you seem to forget that the man I marry will be made rich at once. (Aside.) Ugh, I feel like a brute.
Fred. I’ve tried to forget it, but I couldn’t. It has come between us in the past; is it to do so in the future?
Mrs. V. T. Mr. Stevens, I can’t tell you my grief in finding you like the rest of my disinterested masculine friends.
Fred (hotly). You think I care for your money?
Mrs. V. T. What else can I think? (Aside.) You cat!
Agnes (starting to pull aside curtain, sotto voce to Stuart). Oh! I mustn’t—