NEVILLE: Yes, as Mr. Mandeville, who has been examining my credentials, is brutal enough to remind me—yes, I am married.
[There is a pause. Her cigarette drops from her fingers and she carefully puts her foot on it.
LETTY (in a low voice): You might have mentioned it before. You might have mentioned it before.
Here we have in all its simplicity, without any melodramatic accessories, a tense and poignant moment in human experience. We have no oratory, no lyric cry, but pure double-distilled drama.
Letty is not, like an Elizabethan comedy, a reckless, roystering carnival of vice, rascality, and folly, nor, like Elizabethan tragedy, a compound of villainy, crime, and carnage. The very fact that it is impossible to range it under either of the conventional rubrics shows that it is something new, a growth of the modern age, and raises a fair presumption that it stands in a closer relation to reality. For we do not live either in comedy or tragedy—we live in life.
In that one line "I am a single man; you ain't, bear in mind", Mandeville reveals the whole tragedy of the situation.
So far as any one man can be called the re