YOUNG WIFE. No, it isn’t, it’s disgraceful . . . of me . . . What have I been thinking? Goodbye, Alfred, let me go.

He hugs her and showers her face with kisses.

But you promised. You did.

YOUNG MASTER. One more kiss – one more.

YOUNG WIFE. The very last.

He kisses her. She returns it. A long kiss.

YOUNG MASTER. Shall I tell you something, Emma? I’ve just found out what happiness is.

She sits back in the armchair. He sits on the arm of the chair and drapes his arm round her.

Or rather: what it would be.

She sighs deeply. He kisses her again.

YOUNG WIFE. Oh Alfred, Alfred, what are you doing to me?

YOUNG MASTER. It’s not too bad, this place, is it? And we’re so safe here. This is miles better than having to meet outdoors somewhere.

YOUNG WIFE. Don’t remind me.

YOUNG MASTER. We had our moments. I shall always remember them – every precious minute I’ve been able to spend with you.

YOUNG WIFE. Remember the Directors’ Institute Ball?

YOUNG MASTER. Of course. I sat next to you at dinner, right up close. And that champagne your husband . . .

She looks at him reproachfully.

I was just going to talk about the champagne. Which reminds me – what about a glass of brandy, Emma?

YOUNG WIFE. Just a tiny one. But give me a glass of water first.

YOUNG MASTER. Of course . . . Now, where’s the, um, ah yes.

He draws the curtain and goes into the bedroom. She watches him. He returns with a jug of water and two glasses.

YOUNG WIFE. Where did you go?

YOUNG MASTER. To the . . . other room.

Pours water.

YOUNG WIFE. I’ve got to ask you a question, Alfred, and you must promise to tell me the truth.

YOUNG MASTER. I promise.

YOUNG WIFE. Have there ever been any other women here?

YOUNG MASTER. Emma, this house has been here for twenty years.

YOUNG WIFE. You know what I mean, Alfred. Here, with you.

YOUNG MASTER. With me? Here? Oh, Emma, how could you think that?

YOUNG WIFE. So you . . . how shall I . . . No, I won’t ask you. It’s better that I don’t ask. Anyway, I’m guilty myself. We reap what we sow.

YOUNG MASTER. What are you talking about? What do you mean, reap what we sow?

YOUNG WIFE. No, no, I mustn’t think about it . . . I’ll die of shame if I do.

YOUNG MASTER (holding the water-jug, shakes his head sadly). Emma, if you knew how you’ve hurt me.

She pours herself a brandy.

Let me say something, Emma. If you’re ashamed to be here – if I mean so little to you – if you can’t see that you are everything to me – then you’d better go.

YOUNG WIFE. Yes, I think I’d better.