GRACE. And did you break it off?
CHARTERIS. Oh, yes: _I_ broke it off,
GRACE. But did she break it off?
CHARTERIS (rising). As a favour to me, dearest, change the subject.
Come away from the piano: I want you to sit here with me. (Takes a
step towards her.)
GRACE. No. I also have grown hard to the touch--much harder than
hickory for the present. Did she break it off?
CHARTERIS. My dear, be reasonable. It was fully explained to her that
it was to be broken off.
GRACE. Did she accept the explanation?
CHARTERIS. She did what a woman like Julia always does. When I
explained personally, she said it was not not my better self that was
speaking, and that she knew I still really loved her. When I wrote it
to her with brutal explicitness, she read the letter carefully and
then sent it back to me with a note to say that she had not had the
courage to open it, and that I ought to be ashamed of having written
it. (Comes beside Grace, and puts his left hand caressingly round her
neck.) You see, dearie, she won't look the situation in the face.
GRACE. (shaking off his hand and turning a little away on the stool).
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