We have no place in it—we who love with our brains! we have no chance of happiness!
MARGERY.
What chance have we? we, who love with our hearts! we, who are simply what God made us—women! we, to whom love is not a cult—a problem, but just as vital as the air we breathe. Take love away from us, and you take life itself. You have your books, your sciences, your brains! What have we?—nothing but our broken hearts!
MRS. SYLVESTER.
Broken hearts heal! The things that you call hearts! One love is dead, another takes its place; one man is lost, another man is found. What is the difference to a love like yours? Oh, there are always men for such women as you!
By degrees re-enter omnes, R., L., and C., gradually, except Gerald.
MARGERY.
But if the love is not dead? if it’s stolen? what is our lot then—ours, whose love’s alive? We, who’re not skilled to steal—who only want our own——
MRS. SYLVESTER.
Not skilled to steal! have you not stolen mine?