ALICE. Oh, Edward, be a little proud of poor humanity . . take your own share in it gladly. It so discourages the rest of us if you don't. _Suddenly he breaks down completely._ EDWARD. I can't let myself be glad and live. There's the future to think of. And I'm so afraid of that. I must pretend I don't care . . even to myself . . even to you. ALICE. [_her mocking at an end._] What is it you fear most about the future . . not just the obviously unpleasant things? EDWARD. They'll put me in prison. ALICE. Perhaps. EDWARD. Who'll be the man who comes out? ALICE. Yourself. EDWARD. No, no! I'm a coward. I can't stand alone, it's too lonely. I need affection . . I need friends. I cling to people that I don't care for deeply . . just for the comfort of it. I've no home of my own. Every house that welcomes me now I like to think of as something of a home. And I know that this disgrace in store will leave me for a long time or a short time . . homeless. _There he sits shaken._ ALICE _waits a moment, not taking her eyes from him; then speaks_. ALICE. There's something else I want to scold you for. You've still given up proposing to me. Certainly that shows a lack of courage . . and of perseverance. Or is it the loss of what I always considered a very laudable ambition? EDWARD _is hardly able to trust his ears. Then he looks into her face and his thankfulness frames itself into a single sentence._ EDWARD. Will you marry me? ALICE. Yes, Edward. _For a minute he just holds his breath with happiness. But he shakes himself free of it, almost savagely._ EDWARD. No, no, no, we mustn't be stupid. I'm sorry I asked for that. ALICE. [_with serene strength._] I'm glad that you want me. While I live . . where I am will be Home. EDWARD. [_struggling with himself._] No, it's too late. If you'd said Yes before I came into my inheritance . . perhaps I shouldn't have given myself to the work. So be glad that it's too late. I am. ALICE. [_happily._] There was never any chance of my marrying you when you were only a well-principled prig. I didn't want you . . and I don't believe you really wanted me. Now you do. And you must always take what you want. EDWARD. [_turning to her again._] My dear, what have we to start life upon . . to build our house upon? Poverty . . and prison for me. ALICE. [_mischievous._] Edward, you seem to think that all the money in the world was invested in your precious firm. I have four hundred a year of my own. At least let that tempt you. EDWARD _catches her in his arms with a momentary little burst of passion_. EDWARD. You're tempting me. _She did not resist, but nevertheless he breaks away from her, disappointed with himself. She goes on, quietly, serenely._