[Looking at her sharply.] Norah, aren’t you happy here?
Norah.
Yes, why shouldn’t I be?
Marsh.
Why haven’t you written to me once since you were married?
Norah.
I hadn’t got much to say. [With a smile.] And after all, I’d been practically turned out of your house.
Marsh.
[Puzzled.] I don’t know what to make of you.
Norah.