Anne [interrupts, going to her mother]. Mother, dear, be patient with me, trust me, I beg of you—and please, please don't ask me any questions. Harold and I have had a very hard—a very painful hour together. I don't think I can stand any more.
[She is visibly very much exhausted, gasping for breath.]
Mrs. Carey. Oh, my poor child, what is it? What has he done?
[She supports Anne on one side while Ruth hurries to the other.]
Harold. Really, Mrs. Carey, I think I can explain.
Anne. No, Harold, there's no use trying to explain. There are some things a woman feels, about which she cannot reason. I know I am doing right.
Harold [desperately]. Mrs. Carey, I assure you—
Anne [as if on the verge of a nervous crisis]. Oh, please, please, Harold, don't protest any more. I am not blaming you. Understand, Mother, I am not blaming him. But my decision is irrevocable. I thought you understood. I beg you to go away. You have just time to catch the afternoon express.
Harold. Nonsense, Anne, you must let me—
Anne [wildly]. No, no, Harold, it is finished! Don't you understand? Finished! [She abandons the support of her mother and Ruth and goes to the table.] See, here are your letters. I am going to burn them. [She throws the packet into the fire.] All your letters—[She throws the dispatches into the fire.] Don't, please, continue this unendurable situation any longer. Go, I beg of you, go!