Then it is true.  Oh!

Mrs. Gwyn.  That’s enough, Joy!  What I am is my affair—­not yours—­ do you understand?

Joy. [Low and fierce.] Yes, I do.

Mrs. Gwyn.  You don’t.  You’re only a child.

Joy. [Passionately.] I understand that you’ve hurt [She stops.]

Mrs. Gwyn.  Do you mean your Father?

Joy. [Bowing her head.] Yes, and—­and me. [She covers her face.]
I’m—­I’m ashamed.

Mrs. Gwyn.  I brought you into the world, and you say that to me? 
Have I been a bad mother to you?

Joy. [In a smothered voice.] Oh!  Mother!

Mrs. Gwyn.  Ashamed?  Am I to live all my life like a dead woman because you’re ashamed?  Am I to live like the dead because you ’re a child that knows nothing of life?  Listen, Joy, you ’d better understand this once for all.  Your Father has no right over me and he knows it.  We ’ve been hateful to each other for years.  Can you understand that?  Don’t cover your face like a child—­look at me.

     [Joy drops her hands, and lifts her face.  Mrs. Gwyn looks back
     at her, her lips are quivering; she goes on speaking with
     stammering rapidity.]

D’ you think—­because I suffered when you were born and because I ’ve suffered since with every ache you ever had, that that gives you the right to dictate to me now? [In a dead voice.] I’ve been unhappy enough and I shall be unhappy enough in the time to come. [Meeting the hard wonder in Joy’s face.] Oh! you untouched things, you’re as hard and cold as iron!

Joy.  I would do anything for you, Mother.

Mrs. Gwyn.  Except—­let me live, Joy.  That’s the only thing you won’t do for me, I quite understand.

Joy.  Oh!  Mother, you don’t understand—­I want you so; and I seem to be nothing to you now.

Mrs. Gwyn.  Nothing to me? [She smiles.]

Joy.  Mother, darling, if you’re so unhappy let’s forget it all, let’s go away and I ’ll be everything to you, I promise.

Mrs. Gwyn. [With the ghost of a laugh.] Ah, Joy!

Joy.  I would try so hard.

Mrs. Gwyn. [With the same quivering smile.] My darling, I know you would, until you fell in love yourself.

Joy.  Oh, Mother, I wouldn’t, I never would, I swear it.

Mrs. Gwyn.  There has never been a woman, joy, that did not fall in love.

Joy. [In a despairing whisper.] But it ’s wrong of you it’s wicked!

Mrs. Gwyn.  If it’s wicked, I shall pay for it, not you!

Joy.  But I want to save you, Mother!

Mrs. Gwyn.  Save me? [Breaking into laughter.]

Joy.  I can’t bear it that you—­if you ’ll only—­I’ll never leave you.  You think I don’t know what I ’m saying, but I do, because even now I—­I half love somebody.  Oh, Mother! [Pressing her breast.] I feel—­I feel so awful—­as if everybody knew.