_Sir William._
Tsch! [_Talcing off his gloves._] How often does he write to ye?
_Rose._
He does not write to me. He did write day after day, two or three times
a day, for about a week. That was in June, when I came back here. [_With
drooping head._] He never writes now.
_Sir William._
Visits ye----?
_Rose._
No.
_Sir William._
Comes troubadouring-----?
_Rose._
No, no, no. I have not seen him since that night.
I refused to see him------[_With a catch in her breath._] Why, he may
be----!
_Sir William._
[_Fumbling in his pocket._] Ah, but he's not. He's alive [_producing a
small packet of letters_]. Arthur's alive, [_advancing to her_] and full
of his tricks still. His great-aunt Trafalgar receives a letter from him
once a fortnight, posted in London----
_Rose._
[_Holding out her hand for the letters._] Oh!
_Sir William._
[_Putting them behind his back._] Hey!
_Rose._
[_Faintly._] I thought you wished me to read them. [_He yields them to
her grudgingly, she taking his hand and bending over it._] Ah, thank
you.
_Sir William._
[_Withdrawing his hand with a look of disrelish._] What are ye doing,
madam? what are ye doing?
[_He sits, producing his snuff-box; she sits, upon the basket, facing
him, and opens the packet of letters._]
_Rose._
[_Reading a letter._] "To reassure you as to my well-being, I cause this
to be posted in London by a friend----"
_Sir William._
[_Pointing a finger at her again, accusingly._] A friend!
_Rose._
[_Looking up, with simple pride._] He would never call me that.
[_Reading._] "I am in good bodily health, and as contented as a man can
be who has lost the woman he loves, and will love till his dying day--"
Ah----!
_Sir William._
Read no more! Return them to me! give them to me, ma'am! [_Rising, she
restores the letters, meekly. He peers up into her face._] What's come
to ye? You are not so much of a vixen as you were.
_Rose._
[_Shaking her head._] No.
_Sir William._
[_Suspiciously. _] Less of the devil--?
_Rose._
_Sir William._ I am sorry for having been a vixen, and for all my
unruly conduct, in Cavendish Square. I humbly beg your, and Miss
Gower's, forgiveness.
_Sir William._
[_Taking snuff, uncomfortably._]Pi--i--i--sh! extraordinary change.
_Rose._
Aren't you changed, Sir William, now that you have lost him?
_Sir William._