It is such a phrase as this that gives Ginevra the moral ascendancy in their discussions. 'Of course,' Amy ventures, looking perhaps a little unbleached even now, 'of course I had my diary, dear, and I do think that, even before Monday, there were things in it of a not wholly ordinary kind.' 'Nothing,' persists Ginevra cruelly, 'that necessitated your keeping it locked.' 'No, I suppose not,' sadly enough. 'You are quite right, Ginevra. But we have made up for lost time. Every night since Monday, including the matinee, has been a revelation.' She closes her eyes so that she may see the revelations more clearly. So does Ginevra. 'Amy, that heart-gripping scene when the love-maddened woman visited the _man_ in his _chambers_.' 'She wasn't absolutely love-maddened, Ginevra; she really loved her husband best all the time.' 'Not till the last act, darling.' 'Please don't say it, Ginevra. She was most foolish, especially in the crepe de chine, but _we_ know that she only went to the man's chambers to get back her letters. How I trembled for her then.' 'I was strangely calm,' says Ginevra the stony hearted. 'Oh, Ginevra, I had such a presentiment that the husband would call at those chambers while she was there. And he did. Ginevra, you remember his knock upon the door. Surely you trembled then?' Ginevra knits her lips triumphantly. 'Not even then, Amy. Somehow I felt sure that in the nick of time her lady friend would step out from somewhere and say that the letters were _hers_.' 'Nobly compromising herself, Ginevra.' 'Amy, how I love that bit where she says so unexpectedly, with noble self-renunciation, "He is my affianced husband."' 'Isn't it glorious. Strange, Ginevra, that it happened in each play.' 'That was because we always went to the thinking theatres, Amy. Real plays are always about a lady and two men; and alas, only one of them is her husband. That is Life, you know. It is called the odd, odd