And we shall be dead, Guy dear--dead and cast into
the outer darkness where there is--
HE. Love at least. Isn't that enough?
SHE. I have said so.
HE. And you think so still?
SHE. What do you think?
Ha. What have I _done_? It means equal ruin to me, as the world reckons it--
outcasting, the loss of my appointment, the breaking of my life's work. I pay
my price.
SHE. And are you so much above the world that you can afford to pay it? Am I?
Ha. My Divinity--what else?
SHE. A very ordinary woman I'm afraid, but, so far, respectable. How'd you do,
Mrs. Middleditch? Your husband? I think he's riding down to Annandale with
Colonel Statters. Yes, isn't it divine after the rain?--Guy, how long am I to
be allowed to bow to Mrs. Middleditch? Till the 17th?
HE. Frowsy Scotchwoman? What is the use of bringing her into the discussion?
You were saying?
SHE. Nothing. Have you ever seen a man hanged?
HE. Yes. Once.
SHE. What was it for?
HE. Murder, of course.
SHE. Murder. Is that so great a sin after all? I wonder how he felt before the
drop fell.
HE. I don't think he felt much. What a gruesome little woman it is this
evening! You're shivering. Put on your cape, dear.
SHE. I think I will.
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