THeReSE. Go.

RENe. I'll go and see my people. They'll never be so cruel--

THeReSE. Yes, yes, all right.

RENe. I'll write you.

THeReSE. Yes--that's it--you'll write.

RENe. I shall see you again, Therese? [_He goes slowly to the door_]

THeReSE [_ashamed for him, covers her face with her hands. Then, all of a sudden, she bursts out into pa.s.sionate sobs, having lost all control of herself, and cries wildly_] Rene!

RENe [_returning, shocked_] Therese! Oh, what is it?

THeReSE [_completely at the mercy of her feelings_] Suppose--suppose after all, we _did_ it? Listen. I love you far more than you know, more than I have ever let you know. A foolish feeling of self-respect made me hide a lot from you. Trust me. Trust your future to me. Marry me all the same. Believe in me. Marry me. You don't know how strong I am and all the things I can do. I will work, and you will work. You didn't get on when you were alone, but you will when you have me with you. I'll keep you brave when things go badly, and I'll be happy with you when they go right. Rene, I'll be content with so little! The simplest, humblest, hardest life, until we've made our way together--_together_, Rene, and conquered a place in the world for ourselves, that we'll owe to no one but ourselves. Let us have courage--[_At this point she looks at him, and having looked she ceases to speak_]

RENe. Therese, I'm sure my people will give in.

THeReSE [_after a very long silence, inarticulately_] Go, go; poor Rene.

Forget what I said. Good-bye.

RENe. Oh, no! not good-bye. I'll make my father help us.

THeReSE [_sharply_] Too late, my friend, I don't want you now.

_She leaves the room. Rene sinks into a chair and covers his face with his hands._

ACT II

SCENE:--_A sitting-room at the offices of "Woman Free." The door at the back opens into an entrance hall. The general editorial office is to the right, Monsieur Nerisse's room to the left. At the back, also to the left, is another door opening into a smaller sitting-room. There are papers and periodicals upon the tables._

_The curtain rises upon Monsieur Mafflu. He is a man of about fifty, dressed for ease rather than elegance, and a little vulgar. He turns over the papers on the tables, studies himself in the mirror, and readjusts his tie. Madame Nerisse then comes in. She has Monsieur Mafflu's visiting card in her hand. They bow to each other._

MONSIEUR MAFFLU. My card will have informed you that I am Monsieur Mafflu.

MADAME NeRISSE. Yes. Won't you sit down?

MONSIEUR MAFFLU. I am your new landlord, Madame. I have just bought this house. I've retired from business. I was afraid I shouldn't have enough to do, so I've bought some houses. I am my own agent. It gives me something to do. If a tenant wants repairs done, I go and see him. I love a bit of a gossip; it pa.s.ses away an hour or so. In that way I make people's acquaintance--nice people. I didn't buy any of the houses where poor people live, though they're better business. I should never have had the heart to turn out the ones that didn't pay, and I should have been obliged to start an agent, and all my plan would have been upset.

[_A pause_] Now, Madame, for what brought me here. I hope you'll forgive me for the trouble I'm giving you--and I'm sorry--but I've come to give you notice.

MADAME NeRISSE. Indeed! May I ask what your reason is?

MONSIEUR MAFFLU. I am just on the point of letting the second floor. My future tenant has young daughters.

MADAME NeRISSE. I'm afraid I don't see what that has got to do with it.

MONSIEUR MAFFLU. Well--he'll live only in a house in which all the tenants are private families.

MADAME NeRISSE. But we make no noise. We are not in any way objectionable.

MONSIEUR MAFFLU. Oh, no, no; not at all.

MADAME NeRISSE. Well, then?

MONSIEUR MAFFLU. How shall I explain? I'm certain you're perfectly all right, and all the ladies who are with you here too, but I've had to give in that house property is depreciated by people that work; all the more if the people are ladies, and most of all if they're ladies who write books or bring out a newspaper with such a name as _Woman Free_.

People who know nothing about it think from such a name--oh, bless you, I understand all that's rubbish, but--well--the letting value of the house, you see. [_He laughs_]

MADAME NeRISSE. The sight of women who work for their living offends these people, does it?

MONSIEUR MAFFLU. Yes, that's the idea. A woman who works is always a little--hum--well--you know what I mean. Of course I mean nothing to annoy you.

MADAME NeRISSE. You mean that your future tenants don't want their young ladies to have our example before them.

MONSIEUR MAFFLU. No! That's just what they don't. Having independent sort of people like you about makes 'em uneasy. For me, you know, I wouldn't bother about it--only--of course you don't see it this way, but you're odd--off the common somehow. You make one feel queer.

MADAME NeRISSE. But there are plenty of women who work.

MONSIEUR MAFFLU. Oh, common women, yes; oh, that's all right.

MADAME NeRISSE. If you have children, they have nurses and governesses.

MONSIEUR MAFFLU. Oh, those. They work, of course. They work for me, that's quite different. But you--What bothers these ladies, Madame Mafflu and all the others, is that you're in our own cla.s.s. As for me I stick to the old saying, "Woman's place is the home."

MADAME NeRISSE. But there are women who have got no home.

MONSIEUR MAFFLU. That's their own fault.

MADAME NeRISSE. Very often it's not at all their own fault. Where are they to go? Into the streets?

MONSIEUR MAFFLU. I know, I know. There's all that. Still women can work without being feminists.

MADAME NeRISSE. Have you any idea what you mean by "feminist"?

MONSIEUR MAFFLU. Not very clear. I know the people I live among don't know everything. I grant you all that. But _Woman Free! Woman Free!_ Madame Mafflu wants to know what liberty--or what liberties--singular or plural; do you take me?--ha! ha! There might be questions asked.

MADAME NeRISSE [_laughing_] You must do me the honor of introducing me to Madame Mafflu. She must be an interesting woman. I'll go and see her.

MONSIEUR MAFFLU. Oh, do! But not on a Wednesday.

MADAME NeRISSE. Why not?

MONSIEUR MAFFLU. 'Cos Wednesday's her day.

MADAME NeRISSE [_gayly_] I must give it up, then, as I'm free only on Wednesdays.