A Woman of No Importance

they will repay us. But it is not so. The world draws them from our side, and they make friends with whom they are happier than they are with us, and have amusements from which we are barred, and interests that are not ours: and they are unjust to us often, for when they find life bitter they blame us for it, and when they find it sweet we do not taste its sweetness with them⁠ ⁠… You made many friends and went into their houses and were glad with them, and I, knowing my secret, did not dare to follow, but stayed at home and closed the door, shut out the sun and sat in darkness. What should I have done in honest households? My past was ever with me.⁠ ⁠… And you thought I didn’t care for the pleasant things of life. I tell you I longed for them, but did not dare to touch them, feeling I had no right. You thought I was happier working amongst the poor. That was my mission, you imagined. It was not, but where else was I to go? The sick do not ask if the hand that smooths their pillow is pure, nor the dying care if the lips that touch their brow have known the kiss of sin. It was you I thought of all the time; I gave to them the love you did not need: lavished on them a love that was not theirs⁠ ⁠… And you thought I spent too much of my time in going to Church, and in Church duties. But where else could I turn? God’s house is the only house where sinners are made welcome, and you were always in my heart, Gerald, too much in my heart. For, though day after day, at morn or evensong, I have knelt in God’s house, I have never repented of my sin. How could I repent of my sin when you, my love, were its fruit! Even now that you are bitter to me I cannot repent. I do not. You are more to me than innocence. I would rather be your mother⁠—oh! much rather!⁠—than have been always pure⁠ ⁠… Oh, don’t you see? don’t you understand? It is my dishonour that has made you so dear to me. It is my disgrace that has bound you so closely to me. It is the price I paid for you⁠—the price of soul and body⁠—that makes me love you as I do. Oh, don’t ask me to do this horrible thing. Child of my shame, be still the child of my shame! Gerald Mother, I didn’t know you loved me so much as that. And I will be a better son to you than I have been. And you and I must never leave each other⁠ ⁠… but, mother⁠ ⁠… I can’t help it⁠ ⁠… you must become my father’s wife. You must marry him. It is your duty. Hester Running forwards and embracing Mrs. Arbuthnot. No, no; you shall not. That would be real dishonour, the first you have ever known. That would be real disgrace: the first to touch you. Leave him and come with me. There are other countries than England⁠ ⁠… Oh! other countries over sea, better, wiser, and less unjust lands. The world is very wide and very big. Mrs. Arbuthnot No, not for me. For me the world is shrivelled to a palm’s breadth, and where I walk there are thorns. Hester It shall not be so. We shall somewhere find green valleys and fresh waters, and if we weep, well, we shall weep together. Have we not both loved him? Gerald Hester! Hester Waving him back. Don’t, don’t! You cannot love me at all, unless you love her also. You cannot honour me, unless she’s holier to you. In her all womanhood is martyred. Not she alone, but all of us are stricken in her house. Gerald Hester, Hester, what shall I do? Hester Do you respect the man who is your father? Gerald Respect him? I despise him! He is infamous. Hester I thank you for saving me from him last night. Gerald Ah, that is nothing. I would die to save you. But you don’t tell me what to do now! Hester Have I not thanked you for saving me? Gerald But what should I do? Hester Ask your own heart, not mine. I never had a mother to save, or shame. Mrs. Arbuthnot He is hard⁠—he is hard. Let me go away. Gerald Rushes over and kneels down bedside his mother. Mother, forgive me: I have been to blame. Mrs. Arbuthnot Don’t kiss my hands: they are cold. My heart is cold: something has broken it. Hester Ah, don’t say that. Hearts live by being wounded. Pleasure may turn a heart to stone, riches may make it callous, but sorrow⁠—oh, sorrow cannot break it. Besides, what sorrows have you now? Why, at this moment you are more dear to him than ever, dear though you have been, and oh! how dear you have been always. Ah! be kind to him. Gerald You are my mother and my father all in one. I need no second parent. It was for you I spoke, for you alone. Oh, say something, mother. Have I but found one love to lose another? Don’t tell me that. O mother, you are cruel. Gets up and flings himself sobbing on a sofa. Mrs. Arbuthnot To Hester. But has he found indeed another love? Hester You know I have loved him always. Mrs. Arbuthnot But we are very poor. Hester Who, being loved, is poor? Oh, no one. I hate my riches. They are a burden. Let him share it with me. Mrs. Arbuthnot But we are disgraced. We rank among the outcasts. Gerald is nameless. The sins of the parents should be visited on the children. It is God’s law. Hester I was wrong. God’s law is only Love. Mrs. Arbuthnot Rises, and taking Hester by the hand, goes slowly over to where Gerald is lying on the sofa with his head buried in his