(Pouring forth the words in a torrent of passionate entreaty. Lady Patricia stands staring at him first in bewilderment, then in amazement, then in dawning comprehension, finally in arctic realisation.) It was cruel of them—it was unfair to steal a march on me like this. For your sake—for mine—they should have left the confession to me. I would have withheld nothing. I would have told you all of my own free will. But they’ve spoken. And I see it—they’ve put the vilest construction on the few words they overheard last night. They have made you believe the worst of me. But it’s not true, Patricia. I swear it. It’s not true. (Lady Patricia makes a gesture as though to speak.) No, no, let me speak!... I have been faithful to the letter of our marriage vow—I have been unfaithful to the spirit. I am a man with a man’s passions, but for your sake I fought and kept my sinful love pure. Doubt all else—but believe that. You must believe it. You shall.... I am not trying to excuse myself. There is no excuse for what I have done. But O, Patricia, you know that to love and not to love isn’t in our control. And if I never loved you with all the passion I pretended ... I’m really deeply attached to you. It was for your sake I pretended. I felt it might kill you should you ever dream that your wonderful love was not returned in full ... that I loved ... elsewhere.
Lady Patricia.
(In a cold, level voice.) What are you talking about?
Michael.
(Floored.) Eh ...?
Lady Patricia.
You appear to be under the impression that the Dean and Aunt Eileen have told me something unpleasant about you.
Michael.
Well, haven’t they?
Lady Patricia.