Cæsar's Wife: A Comedy in Three Acts

by W. Somerset Maugham

Appleby.

I'm coming to that. Most of us are torn asunder as it were by a conflict of duties. This and that urgently needs to be done, and if you put one thing right you put something else wrong. We all want to do for the best, but we don't exactly know what the best is. Now, you've got your duty clearly marked out before you, if you take my meaning; you're young.

Arthur.

Youngish.

Appleby.

You've made a success of your job and of your life. It's not all of us who can say that. My second conclusion is that you must be the happiest man alive.

Mrs. Appleby.

I'm glad he's got that off his chest. He's been dinning it into my ears for the last ten days. My impression is that he fell in love with Lady Little that day he lunched here six weeks ago.

Arthur.

I'm not going to blame him for that. Everybody does.... It was a wise old fellow who said that you must count no man happy till he's dead. [Christina gives him a look, and puts her hand affectionately on his arm. He quickly withdraws it.] Here is Violet.