Cæsar's Wife: A Comedy in Three Acts

by W. Somerset Maugham

I couldn't help it if I loved him, Arthur. That wasn't in my power. But all that was in my power I've done. Somehow I've managed not to be alone with him.

Arthur.

Haven't you had any explanation with him?

Violet.

There didn't seem to be anything to explain. D'you think I ought to have told him I didn't love him? I couldn't, Arthur. I couldn't.

Arthur.

My dear! My dear!

Violet.

Once or twice he wrote to me. I knew he would and I'd made up my mind not to read the letters. But when they came I couldn't help myself. I had to read them. I was so wretched and it meant so much to me that he loved me. [Arthur makes an instinctive movement of pain.] I didn't mean to say that. Please forgive me.

Arthur.