HARVEY.  It is, and you know it.  The mother of my children!  Satisfied with that.  Never a word of kindness, or sympathy.  And as for—­affection!

MRS. WESTERN.  We’re not sweethearts—­we’re middle-aged people.

HARVEY.  Well, I need something more.  And, look here, I’ll tell you.  This girl has made life worth living.  That’s all.  I’d come home at night dog-tired, all day in the City—­sick of it, Stock Exchange, office, and the mud and the grime and the worry—­there were you, with a nod, ah, Harvey, good evening—­and you’d scarcely look up from your Committee Report or your Blue-book, or damned pamphlet or other—­

MRS. WESTERN. [Contemptuously.] You are one of the men who want their wife to be a mere sort of doll.

HARVEY. [More and more vehemently.] I want my wife to care for me!  I want her to smile when I come in, and be glad—­I want her to love me!  You don’t!  By the Lord, I’ve sneaked upstairs, gone in and had a peep at the children—­well, they’d be asleep.  I tell you I’ve been hungry, hungry, for a word, for a look!  And there, in the schoolroom, was this girl.  I’ve played it low down, I know—­she’s fond of me.  But I couldn’t help it—­I was lonely—­that’s what it was.  I’ve gone up there night after night. You didn’t know where I was—­and you didn’t care.  In my study, you thought—­the cold, chilly box that you call my study—­glad to have me out of the way.  Well, there I was, with this girl.  It was something to look forward to, in the cab, coming home.  It was something to catch hold of, when things went wrong, in that dreary grind of money-making.  Her eyes lit up when they saw me.  She’d ask me about things—­if I coughed, she’d fuss me—­she had pretty ways, and was pleased, oh, pleased beyond words, if I brought her home something—­

MRS. WESTERN.  So this isn’t the first time!

HARVEY. [With a snarl.] No, of course not!  She admired that bracelet of yours—­by Jove, I said to myself, I’ll get her one like it!  Whatever I brought home to you you’d scarcely say thank you—­and usually it went into the drawer—­I’d such shocking bad taste! She’d beam!  Well, as ill-luck would have it, you took a fancy to this one.  I told her she mustn’t wear hers—­

MRS. WESTERN. [Calmly and cuttingly.] Conspiring behind my back.

HARVEY. [Raging.] Oh, if you knew what has gone on behind your back!  Not when I was with her—­when I was alone!  The things I’ve said about you—­to myself!  When I thought of this miserable life that had to be dragged on here, thought of your superior smile, your damnable cruelty—­

MRS. WESTERN. [Genuinely surprised.] Cruelty!  Why?

HARVEY.  What else?  I’d go up to you timidly—­bah, why talk of it?  To you I’ve been the machine that made money—­money to pay for the house, and the car, and the dressmakers’ bills—­a machine that had to be fed—­and when you’d done that, you’d done all.  Well, there was this girl—­