Judith (querulously).  What message?

Anderson.  Only that I should be glad to see him for a moment on a matter of importance to himself; and that if he would look in here when he was passing he would be welcome.

Judith (aghast).  You asked that man to come here!

Anderson.  I did.

Judith (sinking on the seat and clasping her hands).  I hope he won’t come!  Oh, I pray that he may not come!

Anderson.  Why?  Don’t you want him to be warned?

Judith.  He must know his danger.  Oh, Tony, is it wrong to hate a blasphemer and a villain?  I do hate him!  I can’t get him out of my mind:  I know he will bring harm with him.  He insulted you:  he insulted me:  he insulted his mother.

Anderson (quaintly).  Well, dear, let’s forgive him; and then it won’t matter.

Judith.  Oh, I know it’s wrong to hate anybody; but—­

Anderson (going over to her with humorous tenderness).  Come, dear, you’re not so wicked as you think.  The worst sin towards our fellow creatures is not to hate them, but to be indifferent to them:  that’s the essence of inhumanity.  After all, my dear, if you watch people carefully, you’ll be surprised to find how like hate is to love. (She starts, strangely touched—­even appalled.  He is amused at her.) Yes:  I’m quite in earnest.  Think of how some of our married friends worry one another, tax one another, are jealous of one another, can’t bear to let one another out of sight for a day, are more like jailers and slave-owners than lovers.  Think of those very same people with their enemies, scrupulous, lofty, self-respecting, determined to be independent of one another, careful of how they speak of one another—­pooh! haven’t you often thought that if they only knew it, they were better friends to their enemies than to their own husbands and wives?  Come:  depend on it, my dear, you are really fonder of Richard than you are of me, if you only knew it.  Eh?

Judith.  Oh, don’t say that:  don’t say that, Tony, even in jest.  You don’t know what a horrible feeling it gives me.

Anderson (Laughing).  Well, well:  never mind, pet.  He’s a bad man; and you hate him as he deserves.  And you’re going to make the tea, aren’t you?

Judith (remorsefully).  Oh yes, I forgot.  I’ve been keeping you waiting all this time. (She goes to the fire and puts on the kettle.)

Anderson (going to the press and taking his coat off).  Have you stitched up the shoulder of my old coat?

Judith.  Yes, dear. (She goes to the table, and sets about putting the tea into the teapot from the caddy.)

Anderson (as he changes his coat for the older one hanging on the press, and replaces it by the one he has just taken off).  Did anyone call when I was out?

Judith.  No, only—­(someone knocks at the door.  With a start which betrays her intense nervousness, she retreats to the further end of the table with the tea caddy and spoon, in her hands, exclaiming) Who’s that?