Mrs. Dot: A Farce

by W. Somerset Maugham

Temper, temper.

Mrs. Dot.

You’ll ruin my whole life, because you’re such a perfect fool that you can’t make love to a woman.

[She breaks away from him and begins to cry. He walks up and down, then looks at her with a smile. He makes a sign to Miss MacGregor that Mrs. Dot cannot see.

Blenkinsop.

[In a different voice.] Dot, this little game of ours has lasted long enough.

Mrs. Dot.

[Sobbing in her handkerchief.] Yes, it has. I’m sick to death of the whole thing.

Blenkinsop.

You asked me to play a part, and you didn’t know that it might be deadly earnest.