Doctor! DOCTOR. Do you deny that you have had a past? COLONEL. Oh, a few trifling peccadilloes! ENID. Then you must never marry. COLONEL. Am I to have no chance of reformation? ENID. It is your own fault. DOCTOR. Entirely. COLONEL. One moment, my dear ladies! Excuse me pointing out, that, in the last resort, there must always be a female accomplice! ENID. Poor, tempted creature! COLONEL. _Tempted_ by a _man!_ DOCTOR. We all have our weak moments. [_Sighs._ ENID. All of us! [_Sighs. As the pair sit with their eyes cast down, silent, COLONEL looks from one to the other in dismay, then steals off, R._ COLONEL [_at door_]. Getting dangerous! [_Exit, R. When they look up, each with a languorous glance, they find themselves languishing at one another; both rise._ ENID [_putting her arm round DOCTOR'S waist_]. My dear, we are missing the music! [_Exeunt, L._ _Re-enter MRS. SYLVESTER and GERALD, C. Movement of other Guests across stage, during music._ MRS. SYLVESTER. Where have you been? I have seen nothing of you. What have you been doing? GERALD. Thinking. MRS. SYLVESTER [_jealously_]. Of whom? GERALD. Of Margery. [_Movement of MRS. SYLVESTER._ MRS. SYLVESTER. Has she said anything? GERALD. No, not a word. MRS. SYLVESTER. Of course, she heard? GERALD. What did I say? What did I do? What must she think of me? I can't bear this suspense. For the last fortnight, she's been another woman. So grave--so thoughtful--so unlike herself. There is no laugh to grate upon me now. What would I give to bring it back again? MRS. SYLVESTER. Is it she only who has changed? GERALD. Ever since I saw that figure on the ground, I can see nothing else. And it is I who brought it to the dust--I, who had sworn to cherish it. Yes, you are right; I too am different; I see things from a different point of view. And when I think of Margery's young life, so full of hope and joy--Margery, who never asked to be my wife--Margery, whom I compelled to marry me--with all the joy crushed out of her--I feel too much ashamed even to ask forgiveness. And as I watch her move about the house--silent and sorrowful--I ask myself, how much did Margery give up for me? I took her from the station of life in which she was born, and in which she was happy. I set her in another and a strange one. Was mine the only sacrifice? How much of friendship and of old association did she resign for my sake? My life continued as it was before--I had my old friends and my old pursuits. What had she? Nothing--but my love. And I took it away from her. Because she made a few mistakes, and a few people laughed--a few more didn't call--and I mistook a light heart for an empty head. What do all these things matter? what is a man worth who sets such things above a love like hers? MRS. SYLVESTER. This is pure pity, Gerald. GERALD. Pity for myself. MRS. SYLVESTER. She was no wife for you. She could be no companion. GERALD.