NEWTE. The misfortune _is_ that people won’t keep to their own line of
business. Why did he want to come fooling around her? She was doing
well for herself. She could have married a man who would have thought
more of her than all the damn fools in the county put together. Why
couldn’t he have left her alone?
DR. FREEMANTLE [_he is sitting at the head of the table_, _between Newte
on his right and the Misses Wetherell on his left_. _He lays his hand on
Newte’s sleeve—with a smile_]. I’m sure you can forgive a man—with eyes
and ears in his head—for having fallen in love with her.
NEWTE. Then why doesn’t he stand by her? What if her uncle is a butler?
If he wasn’t a fool, he’d be thanking his stars that ’twas anything half
as respectable.
DR. FREEMANTLE. I’m not defending him—we’re not sure yet that he needs
any defence. He has married a clever, charming girl of—as you say—a
better family than he’d any right to expect. The misfortune is, that—by
a curious bit of ill-luck—it happens to be his own butler.
NEWTE. If she takes my advice, she’ll return to the stage. No sense
stopping where you’re not wanted.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. But how can she?
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. You see, they’re married!
DR. FREEMANTLE [_to change the subject_]. You’ll take an egg?
_Newte has been boiling some_. _He has just served them_.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL [_rejecting it_]. Thank you.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. We’re not feeling hungry.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. He was so fond of her.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. She was so pretty.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. And so thoughtful.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. One would never have known she was an
actress.