Philip. Suppose I could come to you some day and say, Margaret, I’m now an honest man. Would you live with me again?
Marg. The wife-heart has gone out of me, Philip.
Philip. I’ll wait, Margaret. Perhaps it may come back again. Who knows?
. . . . . . . . .
Philip. Is it degrading to forgive?
Marg. No; but it is to condone. Suppose I had broken faith with you?
Philip. Ah, Margaret!
Marg. I know! But suppose I had? Why should a wife bear the whole stigma of infidelity? Isn’t it just as revolting in a husband?…
. . . . . . . . .
Then can’t you see that it is simply impossible for me to live with you again? Philip. That’s my sentence…. We’ll be friends?