STRANGWAY. Yes.
MRS. BRADMERE. [With a little sound of sympathy] What are you--
thirty-five? I'm sixty-eight if I'm a day--old enough to be your
mother. I can feel what you must have been through all these months,
I can indeed. But you know you've gone the wrong way to work. We
aren't angels down here below! And a son of the Church can't act as
if for himself alone. The eyes of every one are on him.
STRANGWAY. [Taking the church key from the window.] Take this,
please.
MRS. BRADMERE. No, no, no! Jarland deserved all he got. You had
great provocation.
STRANGWAY. It's not Jarland. [Holding out the key] Please take it
to the Rector. I beg his forgiveness. [Touching his breast]
There's too much I can't speak of--can't make plain. Take it to him,
please.
MRS. BRADMERE. Mr. Strangway--I don't accept this. I am sure my
husband--the Church--will never accept----
STRANGWAY. Take it!
MRS. BRADMERE. [Almost unconsciously taking it] Mind! We don't
accept it. You must come and talk to the Rector to-morrow. You're
overwrought. You'll see it all in another light, then.
STRANGWAY. [With a strange smile] Perhaps. [Lifting the blind]
Beautiful night! Couldn't be more beautiful!
MRS. BRADMERE. [Startled-softly] Don't turn sway from these who
want to help you! I'm a grumpy old woman, but I can feel for you.
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