Janet (Unwillingly feigning remorse). Let me think a bit. Oh, Mr. Tanner, I suppose I’m in the wrong—if you say so. It didn’t seem to me to be wrong—that’s all I got to say. I hope you’ll forgive me. I’m sorry for the way I spoke—and what I done.
Tanner (Returning). My child, it’s not for me to forgive you. I knew I could appeal to something higher in you, if you’d only listen to me. Are you truly repentant—from the bottom of your heart?
Janet. Yes, sir.
Tanner. As I said to your mother just now, I don’t like preaching sermons, but I hope this has taught you that there can be no justification for our moments of passion and wilfulness. We must all try to humble our pride and our spirit. I won’t go back on my word, but when you start out afresh you must try to wipe out the past by living for the future.
Janet. I’ll try to, sir.
Tanner. And now, Mrs. Ransome, I suppose I’ll have to make the entry as though it had happened an hour or so ago. I know I may seem soft-hearted about it. But I feel I am doing my duty. This may save your daughter from a life of degradation. I think the end justifies the means. But first, let me ask you, who knows that the ceremony wasn’t performed before he died?
Mrs. Ransome. Only me—an’ her father—an’ my sister outside.
Tanner. Can she be relied upon to hold her tongue?
Mrs. Ransome. She surely can, sir.
Tanner. Well, you understand this is a very serious thing for me to do. If it becomes public I shall be faced with a very unpleasant situation.