_Imogen._
[_Going to the door and calling, desperately._] Tom! Tom Wrench! Mr.
Wrench!
_Rose._
Is anything amiss?
_Imogen._
[_Shrilly._] Tom!
_Rose._
Imogen!
_Imogen._
[_Returning to Rose._] Oh, my dear, forgive my agitation---!
[_Tom enters, buoyantly, flourishing the manuscript of his play._]
_Tom._
I've found it! at the bottom of a box--"deeper than did ever plummet
sound----"! [_To Imogen._]
Eh? what's the matter?
_Imogen._
Oh, Tom, old Mr. Morfew-----!
_Tom._
[_Blankly._] Isn't he willing---?
_Imogen._
[_With a gesture of despair._] I don't know. He's dead.
_Tom._
No!
_Imogen._
Three weeks ago. Oh, what a chance he has missed!
[_Tom bangs his manuscript down upon the table savagely._]
_Rose._
What is it, Tom? Imogen, what is it?
_Imogen._
[_Pacing the room._] I can think of no one else----
_Tom._
Done again!
_Imogen._