LADY JOHN. Then all I can say is I am greatly disappointed in you. You threw this man over years ago for reasons--whatever they were--that seemed to you good and sufficient. And now you come between him and a younger woman--just to play Nemesis, so far as I can make out! MISS L. Is that what he says? LADY JOHN. He says nothing that isn't fair and considerate. MISS L. I can see he's changed. LADY JOHN. And you're unchanged--is that it? MISS L. I've changed even more than he. LADY JOHN. But (_pity and annoyance blended in her tone_)--you care about him still, Vida? MISS L. No. LADY JOHN. I see. It's just that you wish to marry somebody---- MISS L. Oh, Lady John, there are no men listening. LADY JOHN (_surprised_). No, I didn't suppose there were. MISS L. Then why keep up that old pretence? LADY JOHN. What pre---- MISS L. That to marry _at all costs_ is every woman's dearest ambition till the grave closes over her. You and I _know_ it isn't true. LADY JOHN. Well, but---- Oh! it was just the unexpected sight of him bringing it back---- _That_ was what fired you this afternoon! (_With an honest attempt at sympathetic understanding._) Of course. The memory of a thing like that can never die--can never even be dimmed--_for the woman_. MISS L. I mean her to think so. LADY JOHN (_bewildered_). Jean! (MISS LEVERING _nods._) LADY JOHN. And it _isn't_ so? MISS L. You don't seriously believe a woman with anything else to think about, comes to the end of ten years still _absorbed_ in a memory of that sort? LADY JOHN (_astonished_). You've got over it, then! MISS L. If the newspapers didn't remind me I shouldn't remember once a twelvemonth that there was ever such a person as Geoffrey Stonor in the world. LADY JOHN (_with unconscious rapture_). Oh, I'm _so_ glad! MISS L. (_smiles grimly_). Yes, I'm glad too. LADY JOHN. And if Geoffrey Stonor offered you--what's called "reparation"--you'd refuse it? MISS L. (_smiles a little contemptuously_). Geoffrey Stonor! For me he's simply one of the far-back links in a chain of evidence. It's certain I think a hundred times of other women's present unhappiness, to once that I remember that old unhappiness of mine that's past. I think of the nail and chain makers of Cradley Heath. The sweated girls of the slums. I think of the army of ill-used women whose very existence I mustn't mention---- LADY JOHN (_interrupting hurriedly_). Then why in Heaven's name do you let poor Jean imagine---- MISS L. (_bending forward_). Look--I'll trust you, Lady John. I don't suffer from that old wrong as Jean thinks I do, but I shall coin her sympathy into gold for a greater cause than mine. LADY JOHN. I don't understand you. MISS L. Jean isn't old enough to be able to care as much about a principle as about a person. But if my half-forgotten pain can turn her generosity into the common treasury---- LADY JOHN. What do you propose she shall do, poor child?