Good morning.
FANNY. Good morning. George stayed the night, didn't he?
VERNON. Yes. He's downstairs now.
FANNY. He won't be going for a little while?
VERNON. Can't till the ten o'clock train. Have you had breakfast?
FANNY. I--I've had something to eat. I'm sorry for what I did last
night--although they did deserve it. [Laughs.] I suppose it's a
matter than can easily be put right again.
VERNON. You have no objection to their staying?
FANNY. Why should I?
VERNON. What do you mean?
FANNY. There's only one hope of righting a mistake. And that is
going back to the point from where one went wrong--and that was our
marriage.
[A moment.]
VERNON. We haven't given it a very long trial.
FANNY [with an odd smile]. It went to pieces at the first. I was in
trouble all last night; you must have known it. You left me alone.
VERNON. Jane told me you had locked yourself in.
FANNY. You never tried the door for yourself, dear. [She pretends
to rearrange something on the mantelpiece--any excuse to turn away
her face for a moment. She turns to him again, smiling.] It was a
mistake, the whole thing. You were partly to blame. You were such a
nice boy. I "fancied" you--to use George's words. [She laughs.]
And when a woman wants a thing, she is apt to be a bit unscrupulous
about how she gets it. [She moves about the room, touching the
flowers, rearranging a cushion, a vase.] I didn't invent the bishop;
that was George's embroidery.
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