Freda.  It hasn’t been his fault!  I love him so.

     Lady Cheshire turns abruptly, and begins to walk up and down the
     room.  Then stopping, she looks intently at Freda.

Lady Cheshire.  I don’t know what to say to you.  It’s simple madness!  It can’t, and shan’t go on.

Freda. [Sullenly] I know I’m not his equal, but I am—­somebody.

Lady Cheshire. [Answering this first assertion of rights with a sudden steeliness] Does he love you now?

Freda.  That’s not fair—­it’s not fair.

Lady Cheshire.  If men are like gunpowder, Freda, women are not.  If you’ve lost him it’s been your own fault.

Freda.  But he does love me, he must.  It’s only four months.

Lady Cheshire. [Looking down, and speaking rapidly] Listen to me.  I love my son, but I know him—­I know all his kind of man.  I’ve lived with one for thirty years.  I know the way their senses work.  When they want a thing they must have it, and then—­they’re sorry.

Freda. [Sullenly] He’s not sorry.

Lady Cheshire.  Is his love big enough to carry you both over everything?....  You know it isn’t.

Freda.  If I were a lady, you wouldn’t talk like that.

Lady Cheshire.  If you were a lady there’d be no trouble before either of you.  You’ll make him hate you.

Freda.  I won’t believe it.  I could make him happy—­out there.

Lady Cheshire.  I don’t want to be so odious as to say all the things you must know.  I only ask you to try and put yourself in our position.

Freda.  Ah, yes!

Lady Cheshire.  You ought to know me better than to think I’m purely selfish.

Freda.  Would you like to put yourself in my position?

Lady Cheshire.  What!

Freda.  Yes.  Just like Rose.

Lady Cheshire. [In a low, horror-stricken voice] Oh!

     There is a dead silence, then going swiftly up to her, she looks
     straight into FREDA’s eyes.

Freda. [Meeting her gaze] Oh!  Yes—­it’s the truth. [Then to Bill who has come in from the workroom, she gasps out] I never meant to tell.

Bill.  Well, are you satisfied?

Lady Cheshire. [Below her breath] This is terrible!

Bill.  The Governor had better know.

Lady Cheshire.  Oh! no; not yet!

Bill.  Waiting won’t cure it!

The door from the corridor is thrown open; Christine and Dot run in with their copies of the play in their hands; seeing that something is wrong, they stand still.  After a look at his mother, Bill turns abruptly, and goes back into the workroom.  Lady Cheshire moves towards the window.

Joan. [Following her sisters] The car’s round.  What’s the matter?