BETTY. The first man he introduced me to--his best man at the wedding--do
you remember coming to see us during the honeymoon? I liked you _then._

WALTER. [_Really shocked._] Betty!

BETTY. I did. You had a way of squeezing my hand.... And then when we came
back here. You know it didn't take me long to discover--

WALTER. [_Protesting._] I scarcely saw you the first two or three years!

BETTY. No--you were afraid. Oh I thought you so silly! [_He suddenly
contrives to release himself--gets up, and moves to the card-table._] Why,
what's the matter?

WALTER. [_At the table, with his back to her._] I hate hearing you talk
like this.

BETTY. Silly boy! [_She rises, and goes to him; he has taken a cigarette
out of the box on the table, and stands there, with his head bent, tapping
the cigarette against his hand._] Women only talk "like this," as you call
it, to their lovers. They talk "like that" to their husbands--and that's
why the husbands never know. That's why the husbands are always sitting in
the stalls, looking on. [_She puts her arms round him again._] Looking and
not seeing.

[_She approaches her lips to his--he almost fretfully unclasps
her arms._

WALTER. Betty--I want to say a--serious word ...