PHILIP: Well, I may as well explain to you that to me love is an appetite like any other appetite. It is no better and no worse than drink, and one woman is no better and no worse than another. At least I used to think that. But now I realize that a temporary adventure is nothing to being entangled in the octopus grip of a love affair with a virtuous woman. [_ANN makes a gesture._ If you want to have children, marry. If you want to love you will have to pay the bill, but see that it is a cash transaction. I meet you—a good woman, a beautiful woman, a charming woman. I am attracted to you as hundreds of men have been before me. And then, suddenly you present me with your virtue. I am flattered, naturally, I take what the gods give me. Who wouldn’t? And then, what happens? The woman who used to believe in virtue, believes in love. A strange flaming thing this love, before which everything is sacrificed, pride, discretion, the conventions, reputation. You are blinded by it. What am I to do? I tell you things, I warn you, I try to escape. But everything I say is like describing objects to someone who can’t see. Gently, serenely, you laugh the foundations of your life away as if they were irrelevant absurdities. ANN (_in agony_): Oh.... PHILIP: And then, one fine day, in a moment of hysterical exaltation, you pull down the very scaffolding of the building, and, sitting among the ruins, you still smile and say: “Love is the only sense in the world.” A child of ten could have told that I had ceased to care for you. And I have been sacrificed on my own altar. Funny, isn’t it? ANN: Oh, my God! PHILIP: Well, I don’t want to waste any time psychologizing. I want to discuss the situation sensibly. Does your husband mean to divorce you? ANN: No. You see, he doesn’t believe that I was telling the truth. PHILIP (_infinitely relieved_): Doesn’t believe that I have been your lover? ANN: No. PHILIP: Good God—you are a clever woman, Ann. ANN: They none of them believe it except Uncle Bill. They think—it was a mad invention. PHILIP: Well, you must try and make all of your friends think it was a joke. ANN: But I wanted them to believe it. I—I was proud of it. PHILIP (_brutally_): Well, you’re not proud of it now, are you? ANN: No. I don’t think that I shall ever recover from the shame of it. PHILIP: It’ll soon blow over. ANN: I didn’t mean that. Do you think I care what the world thinks? Do you think I mind the scandal? It’s having loved you that I mind. That is the shame that will never wear out. [_There is a pause._ PHILIP: I suppose I have been saying things I didn’t altogether mean. ANN: I don’t think so. PHILIP: It’s no good saying I am sorry, is it? ANN: No. PHILIP: I should like to try and make you understand. ANN: I understand everything—now.