Gregory [vehemently].  No!

Mrs. Juno.  Oh, yes you might; and what does that matter, anyhow?  Are you really fond of me?  Are we friends—­comrades?  Would you be sorry if I died?

Gregory [shrinking].  Oh, don’t.

Mrs. Juno.  Or was it the usual aimless man’s lark:  a mere shipboard flirtation?

Gregory.  Oh, no, no:  nothing half so bad, so vulgar, so wrong.  I assure you I only meant to be agreeable.  It grew on me before I noticed it.

Mrs. Juno.  And you were glad to let it grow?

Gregory.  I let it grow because the board was not up.

Mrs. Juno.  Bother the board!  I am just as fond of Sibthorpe as—­

Gregory.  Sibthorpe!

Mrs. Juno.  Sibthorpe is my husband’s Christian name.  I oughtn’t to call him Tops to you now.

Gregory [chuckling].  It sounded like something to drink.  But I have no right to laugh at him.  My Christian name is Gregory, which sounds like a powder.

Mrs. Juno [chilled].  That is so like a man!  I offer you my heart’s warmest friendliest feeling; and you think of nothing but a silly joke.  A quip like that makes you forget me.

Gregory.  Forget you!  Oh, if I only could!

Mrs. Juno.  If you could, would you?

Gregory [burying his shamed face in his hands].  No:  I’d die first.  Oh, I hate myself.

Mrs. Juno.  I glory in myself.  It’s so jolly to be reckless.  Can a man be reckless, I wonder.

Gregory [straightening himself desperately].  No.  I’m not reckless.  I know what I’m doing:  my conscience is awake.  Oh, where is the intoxication of love? the delirium? the madness that makes a man think the world well lost for the woman he adores?  I don’t think anything of the sort:  I see that it’s not worth it:  I know that it’s wrong:  I have never in my life been cooler, more businesslike.

Mrs. Juno. [opening her arms to him] But you can’t resist me.

Gregory.  I must.  I ought [throwing himself into her arms].  Oh, my darling, my treasure, we shall be sorry for this.

Mrs. Juno.  We can forgive ourselves.  Could we forgive ourselves if we let this moment slip?

Gregory.  I protest to the last.  I’m against this.  I have been pushed over a precipice.  I’m innocent.  This wild joy, this exquisite tenderness, this ascent into heaven can thrill me to the uttermost fibre of my heart [with a gesture of ecstasy she hides her face on his shoulder]; but it can’t subdue my mind or corrupt my conscience, which still shouts to the skies that I’m not a willing party to this outrageous conduct.  I repudiate the bliss with which you are filling me.

Mrs. Juno.  Never mind your conscience.  Tell me how happy you are.