CLARE. The morning after you gave it me . . . MALISE. Well? CLARE. I went down to my people. I knew it would hurt my Dad frightfully, but somehow I thought I could make him see. No good. He was awfully sweet, only--he couldn't. MALISE. [Softly] We English love liberty in those who don't belong to us. Yes. CLARE. It was horrible. There were the children--and my old nurse. I could never live at home now. They'd think I was----. Impossible --utterly! I'd made up my mind to go back to my owner--And then-- he came down himself. I couldn't d it. To be hauled back and begin all over again; I simply couldn't. I watched for a chance; and ran to the station, and came up to an hotel. MALISE. Bravo! CLARE. I don't know--no pluck this morning! You see, I've got to earn my living--no money; only a few things I can sell. All yesterday I was walking about, looking at the women. How does anyone ever get a chance? MALISE. Sooner than you should hurt his dignity by working, your husband would pension you off. CLARE. If I don't go back to him I couldn't take it. MALISE. Good! CLARE. I've thought of nursing, but it's a long training, and I do so hate watching pain. The fact is, I'm pretty hopeless; can't even do art work. I came to ask you about the stage. MALISE. Have you ever acted? [CLARE shakes her head] You mightn't think so, but I've heard there's a prejudice in favour of training. There's Chorus--I don't recommend it. How about your brother? CLARE. My brother's got nothing to spare, and he wants to get married; and he's going back to India in September. The only friend I should care to bother is Mrs. Fullarton, and she's--got a husband. MALISE. I remember the gentleman. CLARE. Besides, I should be besieged day and night to go back. I must lie doggo somehow. MALISE. It makes my blood boil to think of women like you. God help all ladies without money. CLARE. I expect I shall have to go back. MALISE. No, no! We shall find something. Keep your soul alive at all costs. What! let him hang on to you till you're nothing but-- emptiness and ache, till you lose even the power to ache. Sit in his drawing-room, pay calls, play Bridge, go out with him to dinners, return to--duty; and feel less and less, and be less and less, and so grow old and--die! [The bell rings.] MALISE. [Looking at the door in doubt] By the wayhe'd no means of tracing you? [She shakes her head.] [The bell rings again.] MALISE. Was there a man on the stairs as you came up? CLARE. Yes. Why? MALISE. He's begun to haunt them, I'm told. CLARE. Oh! But that would mean they thought I--oh! no! MALISE. Confidence in me is not excessive. CLARE. Spying! MALISE. Will you go in there for a minute? Or shall we let them ring--or--what? It may not be anything, of course. CLARE. I'm not going to hide. [The bell rings a third time.]