nk. The wood ... the wood, certainly. But the
wood wasn't the wood.

JOANNA (revolving like one in pursuit). My head is going round.

MABEL. Lob's wood! I remember it all. We were here. We did go.

PURDIE. So we did. But how could...? where was...?

JOANNE. And who was...?

MABEL And what was...?

PURDIE (even in this supreme hour a man). Don't let go. Hold on to
what we were doing, or we shall lose grip of ourselves. Devotion.
Something about devotion. Hold on to devotion. 'If the dog-like
devotion of a lifetime...' Which of you was I saying that to?

MABEL. To me.

PURDIE. Are you sure?

MABEL (shakily). I am not quite sure.

PURDIE (anxiously). Joanna, what do you think? (With a sudden increase
of uneasiness.) Which of you is my wife?

JOANNA (without enthusiasm). I am. No, I am not. It is Mabel who is
your wife!

MABEL. Me?

PURDIE (with a curious gulp). Why, of course you are, Mabel!

MABEL. I believe I am!

PURDIE. And yet how can it be? I was running away with you.

JOANNA (solving that problem). You don't need to do it now.

PURDIE. The wood. Hold on to the wood. The wood is what explains it.
Yes, I see the whole thing. (He gazes at LOB.) You infernal old
rascal! Let us try to think it out. Don't any one speak for a moment.
Think first. Love ... Hold on to love. (He gets another tap.) I
say, I believe I am not a deeply passionate chap at all; I believe I
am just .... a philanderer!

MABEL. It is what you are.

JOANNA (more magnanimous). Mabel, what about ourselves?

PURDIE (to whom it is truly a nauseous draught). I didn't know. Just
a philanderer! (The soul of him would like at this instant to creep
into another body.) And if people don't change, I suppose we shall
begin all over again now.

JOANNA (the practical). I daresay; but not with each other. I may
philander again, but not with you.

(They look on themselves without approval, always a sorry occupation.
The man feels it most because he has admired himself most, or perhaps
partly for some better reason.)

PURDIE (saying good-bye to an old friend). John Purdie, John Purdie,
the fine fellow I used to think you! (When he is able to look them in
the face again.) The wood has taught me one thing, at any rate.

MABEL (dismally). What, Jack?

PURDIE. That it isn't accident that shapes our lives.

JOANNA. No, it's Fate.

PURDIE (the truth running through him, seeking for a permanent home in
him, willing to give him still anot