to divorce him. Nothing that you can say will move me.
Etchingham.
But you can’t divorce him. You’ve accused him of nothing but infidelity. You can’t be so ignorant of the law. …
Catherine.
[Interrupting.] I’m not at all ignorant of the law. I assure you that he has complied fully with all the conditions which are needful.
Lady Francis.
Kate.
Catherine.
Please don’t ask me. I feel that my whole soul is foul with. …
Etchingham.
Well, of course there are always two sides to every question.
Catherine.
Oh, father, you’re not going to tell me that that, too, is usual in polite society, for a man to. … Oh!
[She gives a gesture and a cry of disgust.
Lady Francis.
I wonder if you’d go and read your Times, Frank. I should like to talk to Katie alone.
Etchingham.
[With a look from his wife to his daughter.] Eh, very well. Perhaps you can do something with her. Tell her what it means if she persists. I suppose I shall find the Times in the library.
[He goes out.
Lady Francis.
[With a smile.] Your father has such a power of delusion. He never looks at anything but the Daily Mail, but he’s quite convinced that he reads nothing but the Times.
Catherine.
[Passionately.] Oh, mother, you’ll stand by me, won’t you? You know what I’ve gone through. If you care for me at all you must have some pity.
[Lady Francis looks at her coolly. She is quite unmoved by the vehemence of the appeal. She pauses for a moment before answering.
Lady Francis.
Why have you chosen this particular moment to leave your husband?
Catherine.
There are limits to human endurance.
Lady Francis.
You’ve lived a good deal apart. Like civilized people you’ve made the best of a mutual want of sympathy. I should have thought George interfered with you very little. I have an idea that no woman would care to undergo the—inconvenience of proceedings for divorce without a very good reason. You’ve got a peculiarly fastidious taste, Katie. It must be something rather out of the way that induces you to expose your private life to all and sundry.
Catherine.
It’s merely a choice of ignominies.
[Lady Francis pauses an instant, then raps out the question sharply.
Lady Francis.
Are you in love?
Catherine.
You have no right to ask me that, mother.
Lady Francis.
[With a slight smile.] Your indignation is almost an answer in itself, isn’t it? I suppose you want to marry.
[Catherine does not answer. She takes a step or two impatiently.
Lady Francis.
Well?
Catherine.
I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.
Lady Francis.
In that case, I should have thought you had nothing to conceal.
Catherine.
[Defiantly.] I haven’t. When I thought that everything was over for me and that life was meaningless, I found it was only just beginning. And I thanked God for all I’d gone through because perhaps it made me less unfit for the great love that descended upon me.
Lady Francis.
It’s Robert Colby, isn’t it?
Catherine.
Yes.
Lady Francis.
And you’ve made your arrangements, I suppose, to be married as soon as the decree is made absolute?
Catherine.
We haven’t discussed the matter.
Lady Francis.
But still, I may take it that is the intention?
Catherine.
Yes.
Lady Francis.
Your father wishes me to tell you that if you quarrel with George it will ruin him. He could hardly keep the position that George has given him on his various boards.
Catherine.
You will be no worse off than before I married.
Lady Francis.
Except that it appears your father owes George fifteen thousand pounds.
Catherine.
Do you want to cheat me again out of the little happiness that seems in store for me?
Lady Francis.
I want you to do what is right in your own eyes.
Catherine.
How can you be so cruel?
George Winter.
[Opening the door.] May I come in?
[He enters with Francis Etchingham. George Winter is a man of powerful build, with fine hair and fine eyes; he wears a short red beard. He is inclined to corpulence, but bears himself with an attractive swagger. He is a jovial, bland fellow. He appears to be the best-natured person in the world, and his great astuteness suggests itself only now and then in a look of his eyes. He has admirable control over an execrable temper. Catherine turns round with a startled cry at the sound of her husband’s voice.
Catherine.
George!
George Winter.
My dear, look pleased to see me. It’s only decent.
Catherine.
It’s infamous that you should come here. If you had any decent feeling. …
George Winter.
[Blandly.] My dear child, I had a business engagement with your father. It’s unreasonable to expect me not to keep it because you have temporarily abandoned the conjugal roof.
Catherine.
[To her father.] You might have warned me.
Etchingham.
My dear, I was hoping that after a talk with your mother you’d have. …
Catherine.
[Interrupting.] What can I do to show you that I’ve made up my mind for good and all?
George Winter.
Even after one’s made up one’s mind, it’s not too late to listen to reason.
Lady Francis.
I think for all our sakes you should listen to anything that George has to say.
Catherine.
[To George Winter.] Do you understand what my mother means?