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ion. But not one of the playwriting chaps dares do it. Why not, I ask you? There you'd have truth, something big. But no--they're afraid--think the public won't like it. The husband's got to down the lover--like a big tom-cat with a mouse--or the author'd have to sell one of his motor-cars! That's just the fact of it!
BETTY. [_Looking at the clock on the mantelpiece._] Twenty-five past, Hector.
HECTOR. [_Cheerily._] All right, my lass, I'm off. By-bye, Walter--keep the old woman company for a bit. Good-bye, sweetheart. [_He kisses her._] Don't wait up. Now for the drama. Oh, the dog's life!
[_He goes._ BETTY _waits till the hall door has banged, then she sits on the elbow of_ WALTER'S _chair, and rests her head on his shoulder._
BETTY. [_Softly._] Poor Hector!
WALTER. [_Uncomfortably._] ... Yes ...
BETTY. Doesn't it make you feel dreadful when he talks like that? [_She kisses him; then puts her arms round his neck, draws his face to her, and kisses him again, on the cheek._] Doesn't it?
[_She nestles contentedly closer to him._
WALTER. [_Trying to edge away._] Well, it does. Yes.
BETTY. [_Dreamily._] I--like it.
WALTER. Betty!
BETTY. Yes, I like it. I don't know why. I suppose I'm frightfully wicked. Or the danger perhaps--I don't know.
WALTER. [_Making a futile effort to get up._] Betty--
BETTY. [_Tightening her arms around him._] Stop there, and don't move. How smooth your chin is--his scrapes. Why don't husbands shave better? Or is it that the forbidden chin is always smoother? Poor old Hector! If he could see us! He hasn't a suspicion. I think it's lovely--really, I do. He leaves us here together, night after night, and imagines you're teaching me bridge.
WALTER. [_Restlessly._] So I am. Where are the cards?
BETTY. [_Caressing him._] Silly, have you forgotten that this is Tuesday--Maggie's night out? She's gone--I told her she needn't wait to clear away. We've arranged master's supper. Master! _Yo