ALICE. [_whispering the awful words._] Then truthfully, Edward, once upon a time you were a bit of a prig.

EDWARD. [_with enough sense of humour to whisper back._] Was I?

ALICE. I'm afraid so! But the prig fell ill when your father died . .

and had to be buried in his grave. [_Then her voice rises stirringly._]

Oh, don't you see what a blessing this cursed work was meant to be to you? Why must you stand stiff against it?

EDWARD. [_without a smile now._] But lately, Alice, I've hardly known myself. Once or twice I've lost my temper . . I've been brutal.

ALICE. That's the best news in the world. There's your own wicked nature coming out. That's what we've been waiting for . . that's what we want.

That's you.

EDWARD. [_still serious._] I'm sorry for it.

ALICE. Oh, Edward, be a little proud of poor humanity . . take your own share in it gladly. It so discourages the rest of us if you don't.

_Suddenly he breaks down completely._

EDWARD. I can't let myself be glad and live. There's the future to think of. And I'm so afraid of that. I must pretend I don't care . . even to myself . . even to you.

ALICE. [_her mocking at an end._] What is it you fear most about the future . . not just the obviously unpleasant things?

EDWARD. They'll put me in prison.

ALICE. Perhaps.

EDWARD. Who'll be the man who comes out?

ALICE. Yourself.

EDWARD. No, no! I'm a coward. I can't stand alone, it's too lonely. I need affection . . I need friends. I cling to people that I don't care for deeply . . just for the comfort of it. I've no home of my own. Every house that welcomes me now I like to think of as something of a home.

And I know that this disgrace in store will leave me for a long time or a short time . . homeless.

_There he sits shaken._ ALICE _waits a moment, not taking her eyes from him; then speaks_.

ALICE. There's something else I want to scold you for. You've still given up proposing to me. Certainly that shows a lack of courage . . and of perseverance. Or is it the loss of what I always considered a very laudable ambition?

EDWARD _is hardly able to trust his ears. Then he looks into her face and his thankfulness frames itself into a single sentence._

EDWARD. Will you marry me?

ALICE. Yes, Edward.

_For a minute he just holds his breath with happiness. But he shakes himself free of it, almost savagely._

EDWARD. No, no, no, we mustn't be stupid. I'm sorry I asked for that.

ALICE. [_with serene strength._] I'm glad that you want me. While I live . . where I am will be Home.

EDWARD. [_struggling with himself._] No, it's too late. If you'd said Yes before I came into my inheritance . . perhaps I shouldn't have given myself to the work. So be glad that it's too late. I am.

ALICE. [_happily._] There was never any chance of my marrying you when you were only a well-principled prig. I didn't want you . . and I don't believe you really wanted me. Now you do. And you must always take what you want.

EDWARD. [_turning to her again._] My dear, what have we to start life upon . . to build our house upon? Poverty . . and prison for me.

ALICE. [_mischievous._] Edward, you seem to think that all the money in the world was invested in your precious firm. I have four hundred a year of my own. At least let that tempt you.

EDWARD _catches her in his arms with a momentary little burst of pa.s.sion_.

EDWARD. You're tempting me.

_She did not resist, but nevertheless he breaks away from her, disappointed with himself. She goes on, quietly, serenely._

ALICE. Am I? Am I playing upon your senses in any way? Am I a silly child looking to you for protection in return for your favour? Shall I hinder or help your life? If you don't think me your equal as woman to man, we'll never speak of this again. But if you do . . look at me and make your choice. To refuse me my work and happiness in life and to cripple your own nature . . or to take my hand.

_She puts out her hand frankly, as a friend should. With only a second's thought he, happy too now, takes it as frankly. Then she sits beside him and quite cheerfully changes the subject._

ALICE. Now, referring to the subject of Mr. George Booth. What will he do?

EDWARD. [_responsive though impatient._] He'll do nothing. I shall be before him.

ALICE. What about his proposal?

EDWARD. That needs no answer.

ALICE. Yes, it does. I know the temptation to hit back at him mock-heroically . . it's natural. Well, we'll consider it done. But he's a silly old man and he doesn't know what he's talking about. I think we can bargain with him to keep the firm going somehow . . and if we can we must.

_At this_ EDWARD _makes a last attempt to abandon himself to his troubles_.

EDWARD. No, Alice, no . . let it end here. It has done for me . . I'm broken. And of course we can't be married . . that's absurd.

ALICE. [_with firmness enough for two._] We shall be married. And nothing's broken . . except our pride and righteousness . . and several other things we're better without. And now we must break our dignity in to bargaining.

EDWARD. [_struggling in the toils of virtue._] But it'll be so useless.

Colpus'll be round in a day or two to make his conditions . . he'll tell some intimate friend. They'll all come after their money like wasps after honey. And if they know I won't lift a finger in my own defence . .

what sort of mercy will they have?

ALICE. [_triumphantly completing her case._] No, Edward, if you surrender yourself entirely, you'll find them powerless against you. You see, you had something to hope or fear from Mr. Booth . . you hoped in your heart he'd end your trouble. But when you've conquered that last little atom of the selfishness which gets in one's way, I think you'll find you can do what you wish with these selfish men. [_and she adds fervently._] Oh, it's a power so seldom used. But the man who is able, and cares deeply, and yet has nothing to hope or fear is all powerful . .

even in little things.

EDWARD. Will nothing ever happen to set me free? Shall I never be able to rest for a moment . . turn round and say I've succeeded or I've failed?

ALICE. That isn't what matters.

EDWARD. If they could all meet and agree, they might syndicate themselves and keep me at it for life.

ALICE. What more could you wish for?

EDWARD. Than that dreary round!