Capt. G. Yes, if it's not dreadful—about other men.
Mrs. G. It's about my own bad little self.
Capt. G. Then it must be good. Go on, dear.
Mrs. G. (Slowly.) I don't know why I'm telling you, Pip; but if ever you marry again—(Interlude.) Take your hand from my mouth or I'll bite! In the future, then remember—I don't know quite how to put it!
Capt. G. (Snorting indignantly.) Don't try. “Marry again,” indeed!
Mrs. G. I must. Listen, my husband. Never, never, never tell your wife anything that you do not wish her to remember and think over all her life. Because a woman—yes, I am a woman—can't forget.
Capt. G. By Jove, how do you know that?
Mrs. G. (Confusedly.) I don't. I'm only guessing. I am—I was—a silly little girl; but I feel that I know so much, oh, so very much more than you, dearest. To begin with, I'm your wife.
Capt. G. So I have been led to believe.
Mrs. G. And I shall want to know every one of your secrets—to share everything you know with you. (Stares round desperately.)