MARCHBANKS. Thank you, I should like that very much. But I really
mustn't. The truth is, Mrs. Morell told me not to. She said she
didn't think you'd ask me to stay to lunch, but that I was to
remember, if you did, that you didn't really want me to.
(Plaintively.) She said I'd understand; but I don't. Please don't
tell her I told you.

MORELL (drolly). Oh, is that all? Won't my suggestion that you
should take a turn in the park meet the difficulty?

MARCHBANKS. How?

MORELL (exploding good-humoredly). Why, you duffer--(But this
boisterousness jars himself as well as Eugene. He checks himself,
and resumes, with affectionate seriousness) No: I won't put it in
that way. My dear lad: in a happy marriage like ours, there is
something very sacred in the return of the wife to her home.
(Marchbanks looks quickly at him, half anticipating his meaning.)
An old friend or a truly noble and sympathetic soul is not in the
way on such occasions; but a chance visitor is. (The hunted,
horrors-tricken expression comes out with sudden vividness in
Eugene's face as he understands. Morell, occupied with his own
thought, goes on without noticing it.) Candida thought I
would rather not have you here; but she was wrong. I'm very fond
of you, my boy, and I should like you to see for yourself what a
happy thing it is to be married as I am.

MARCHBANKS, Happy!--YOUR marriage! You think that! You believe
that!