I didn't mean that. On my word of honor, I didn't. Let
it pass, dear. Please let it pass.
SHE. This once--yes--and a second time, and again and again, all through the
years when I shall be unable to resent it. You want too much, my Lancelot,
and...you know too much.
Hp. How do you mean?
SHE. That is a part of the punishment. There cannot be perfect trust between
us.
HE. In Heaven's name, why not?
SHE. Hush! The Other Place is quite enough. Ask yourself.
HE. I don't follow.
SHE. You trust me so implicitly that when I look at another man--Never mind,
Guy. Have you ever made love to a girl--a good girl?
HE. Something of the sort. Centuries ago--in the Dark Ages, before I ever met
you, dear.
SHE. Tell me what you said to her.
HE. What does a man say to a girl? I've forgotten.
SHE. I remember. He tells her that he trusts her and worships the ground she
walks on, and that he'll love and honor and protect her till her dying day;
and so she marries in that belief. At least, I speak of one girl who was not
protected.
HE. Well, and then?
SHE. And then, Guy, and then, that girl needs ten times the love and trust and
honor--yes, honor--that was enough when she was only a mere wife if--if--the
other life she chooses to lead is to be made even bearable.
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