Nor. You have a secret? (comes to her C.)
Bea. Yes—I was always constant. I was forced into this marriage. The letter I wrote breaking off our engagement was dictated to me. I never loved my husband. (turns away to L.C.)
Nor. (C.) Mrs. Selwyn, you forget, your husband is my friend. If you didn’t know it when he asked me here, you know it now.
Bea. (turns to him) I always knew it. It was I who suggested the invitation. I could bear my unhappiness no longer. I felt I must see you again. Oh, if you could only look into my heart! Ned! Though I used you badly, you are bitterly avenged! (drops into sofa L.C., and buries her face in her hands)
Nor. (goes up to head of sofa, looking down on her) I have no wish to be avenged. I loved you—I lost you—and there is an end of it. (turns up C.)
Bea. (rising) Why was I born a woman? (crosses to R.C. corner of table) Why was I not a man? To amuse myself just for the moment, and then to be able to forget!
Nor. (comes down behind chair R.C.) You do us an injustice. We men are not so inconstant as you think. Sometimes we pretend to forget what we are half ashamed to remember. (Beatrice listens intently, watching him out of the corner of her eyes) But the past is past. You are a wife now. (goes to C.)
Bea. If I were not a wife?
Nor. Then, it would be different.
Bea. (close to him) Hush! I have said, I do not love my husband; and if you say that, you will make me hate him. To think that he—and he alone—stands between me and happiness.