Mrs. Juno [rising aghast].  Your wife!!!  You don’t dare sit there and tell me coolly that you’re a married man!

Gregory.  I never led you to believe I was unmarried.

Mrs. Juno.  Oh!  You never gave me the faintest hint that you had a wife.

Gregory.  I did indeed.  I discussed things with you that only married people really understand.

Mrs. Juno.  Oh!!

Gregory.  I thought it the most delicate way of letting you know.

Mrs. Juno.  Well, you are a daisy, I must say.  I suppose that’s vulgar; but really! really!!  You and your goodness!  However, now we’ve found one another out there’s only one thing to be done.  Will you please go?

Gregory [rising slowly].  I ought to go.

Mrs. Juno.  Well, go.

Gregory.  Yes.  Er—­[he tries to go].  I—­I somehow can’t. [He sits down again helplessly].  My conscience is active:  my will is paralyzed.  This is really dreadful.  Would you mind ringing the bell and asking them to throw me out?  You ought to, you know.

Mrs. Juno.  What! make a scandal in the face of the whole hotel! 
Certainly not.  Don’t be a fool.

Gregory.  Yes; but I can’t go.

Mrs. Juno.  Then I can.  Goodbye.

Gregory [clinging to her hand].  Can you really?

Mrs. Juno.  Of course I—­[she wavers].  Oh, dear! [They contemplate one another helplessly].  I can’t. [She sinks on the lounge, hand in hand with him].

Gregory.  For heaven’s sake pull yourself together.  It’s a question of self-control.

Mrs. Juno [dragging her hand away and retreating to the end of the chesterfield].  No:  it’s a question of distance.  Self-control is all very well two or three yards off, or on a ship, with everybody looking on.  Don’t come any nearer.

Gregory.  This is a ghastly business.  I want to go away; and I can’t.

Mrs. Juno.  I think you ought to go [he makes an effort; and she adds quickly] but if you try I shall grab you round the neck and disgrace myself.  I implore you to sit still and be nice.

Gregory.  I implore you to run away.  I believe I can trust myself to let you go for your own sake.  But it will break my heart.

Mrs. Juno.  I don’t want to break your heart.  I can’t bear to think of your sitting here alone.  I can’t bear to think of sitting alone myself somewhere else.  It’s so senseless—­so ridiculous—­when we might be so happy.  I don’t want to be wicked, or coarse.  But I like you very much; and I do want to be affectionate and human.

Gregory.  I ought to draw a line.

Mrs. Juno.  So you shall, dear.  Tell me:  do you really like me?  I don’t mean love me:  you might love the housemaid—­