O’Halligan yesterday—where is it? [_Going to a writing-table and
rummaging among the litter there._] He fancies Kildaowen very strongly.
The mare’s feeding well; that’s always been their difficulty, you know——
SHAFTO.
[_Quietly, looking towards the window._] Jack.
JOHN.
Eh?
SHAFTO.
Who’s that woman out there?
[ELPHICK _ceases playing_.
JOHN.
Where?
SHAFTO.
In your garden.
[JOHN _looks towards the window_; ELPHICK _rises and makes
one of the group_.
JOHN.
[_After a pause._] I don’t see anybody.
SHAFTO.
She’s behind the laurels now.
JOHN.
[_About to go to the window._] One of the maids——
SHAFTO.
[_Laying his hand on_ JOHN’S _arm_.] Wait a bit. [_Goes cautiously to
the window, peeps out, and comes away._] I say, old chap.
JOHN.
What’s the matter?
SHAFTO.
I thought so. It’s your wife. [_There is a moment’s pause, then an
excited movement from_ JOHN.] Stop! [_A pause._] What are you going to
do?
JOHN.
[_Dazed._] Do!... do!...
SHAFTO.
Not anything stoopid, Jack?
JOHN.
[_Excitedly._] Clear out for a minute, you two fellows.
[SHAFTO _goes up the steps and into the library, drawing
the_ portière _across the door as he disappears_.
JOHN.
Get out, Peter!
ELPHICK.
[_Going up the steps and pausing at the door._] Jack.
JOHN.
What is it?
ELPHICK.
[_With an empty expression of face and voice._] Don’t do anything weak.
JOHN.
Get out! [ELPHICK _disappears_. JOHN _hurriedly glances round the room
and arranges a displaced chair. Then he discovers that_ ELPHICK _has
left the banjo upon the settee, and he seizes it impatiently_.] Oh——
[_Going to the door of the library and drawing aside the_ portière.]
Here! Peter! catch! [_He throws the banjo into the room, and readjusts
the_ portière. _The instrument is heard to fall with a crash to the
floor. He looks into the library, hastily._] I beg your pardon, old
fellow. [_He descends the steps and goes to the window and opens it,
speaking in a low voice._] Is any one there? [_A pause._] Someone’s
there.
OLIVE.
[_From a little distance._] Yes.
JOHN.
Who is it?
OLIVE.
Olive.
JOHN.
[_Sternly._] Well?
OLIVE.
Are you by yourself?
JOHN.
Yes. [_After a pause._] Come in.
_He draws back to allow her to pass him. After a short delay she enters,
and, without looking at him, comes right into the room. He closes
the window, but remains at that end of the room._ OLIVE ALLINGHAM
_is a fashionably and richly dressed woman of a little over thirty
years of age—pale, worn red-eyed, but still handsome. In manner she
is alternately beseeching and gentle, angry and imperious. The
twilight now gradually deepens into dusk._
OLIVE.
You have some men here?
JOHN.
Shafto and Peter Elphick. I asked them to clear out for a moment.
OLIVE.
What will they think?
JOHN.
[_With a shrug of the shoulder._] They can scarcely know what to think.
OLIVE.
[_Walking to the mantelpiece._] What do you think yourself, of my
humbling myself in this fashion? [_Turning to him._] What do you——? [_As
she has crossed to the left of the room, he, still at a distance, has
moved over to the right. Speaking with a catch in her breath._] Oh,
don’t do that! I’m not poisonous, John. [_He approaches stiffly and
silently. She advances towards him plaintively._] John, I am quite worn
out—[_putting her hand to her bosom_]—burnt out here. This desperate
lawsuit has been my last bolt. I’m finished—spent. I know my regrets
won’t avail us much at this time of day; the future has a most
melancholy look-out for both of us; but I want to tell you I am truly
conscious, at last, of the evil my jealousy has wrought. [_Sitting
weakly._] Yes, John, I—I am quite reasonable at last.
[QUAIFE _enters_.
QUAIFE.
Dinner is s——
[_He breaks off, staring at_ OLIVE.
OLIVE.
Good evening, Quaife.
QUAIFE.
[_Aghast._] Good evening, ma’am.
JOHN.
[_To_ QUAIFE.] Tell Mrs. Quaife to delay dinner for—for——
OLIVE.
[_Rising and turning away—in an altered tone._] Oh, five minutes—ten at
the outside.
JOHN.
For a quarter of an hour. [_Sharply._] The lamps.
[QUAIFE _withdraws, as if in a dream_.
OLIVE.
[_Bitterly._] I much regret keeping you and your friends from your
dinner. It’s an exceptionably elaborate entertainment to-night, I
suppose?
JOHN.
No, no; it’s of no consequence——
OLIVE.
Dinner! dinner! if every woman in the world was weeping her heart out,
men would be found dining—feeding—feasting! What was I saying when
Quaife blundered in? Where was I?
JOHN.
[_Looking at her steadily._] Quite reasonable at last.
OLIVE.
[_After a brief pause, speaking gently again._] Oh, John——! [_Advancing
a few steps._] It was inconsiderate of me to break out in that way. But
I don’t mean half the brutal things I say; I never did.
JOHN.
You couldn’t have done so.
OLIVE.
Any jealous woman will tell you what a slave she is to her paroxysms.
Oh, they are dreadful, while they last! [_Agitatedly._] The flame behind
one’s eyes, the buzzing in the ears, the dry tongue, the thumping of the
heart——! [_Calming herself, breathlessly._] Thank God, I’m cured!
JOHN.
You’ve said something like this to me on other occasions.
OLIVE.
Never, under such extraordinary circumstances. [_Going to him._] The
fact that I can drag myself to you, in this spirit, after my defeat, for
the sake of a few words with you, must show you what an altered woman I
am. [_Sitting._] John, I felt I couldn’t go back to that lonely flat of
mine to-night without first proving to you how thorough my remorse is.
[_Looking round._] That dismal flat! [_In an altered tone._] You appear
to be extremely comfortable here.
JOHN.
Oh, it’s a little place—very cramped——
OLIVE.
This is where you gave me and papa tea once, when we were engaged to be
married.
JOHN.
I remember.
OLIVE.
And now——[_Excitedly._] Ha, I suppose I’m a fool not to indulge myself
just as luxuriously, just as——! [_She meets his eye and breaks off
shamefacedly. Faltering, with her hand to her brow._] Where was I—again?
JOHN.
You were engaged in demonstrating how thorough your remorse is.
OLIVE.
Oh, yes. [_Weakly._] After the case ended this afternoon I walked about
the streets quite light-headed, till I summoned up resolution to try to
find you. [_With an effort._] John, that—that lady——
JOHN.
What lady?
OLIVE.
[_Agitatedly._] Mrs. Fraser of Locheen.
JOHN.
Yes?
OLIVE.
[_Repressing her agitation._] Of course, the judge fully justified my
action by the very severe way he spoke of her.
JOHN.
His remarks were infamous! I could have taken him by the throat and
thrown him into the body of the Court. No right-thinking person would
have blamed me for doing so.
OLIVE.
However, he gave her the benefit of the doubt——
JOHN.
[_Scornfully._] The benefit of the doubt!
OLIVE.
And paid me the compliment of believing that I would, as one woman to
another, prefer such a course being adopted.
JOHN.
[_Pacing to and fro._] Poor, wretched little Mrs. Fraser!
OLIVE.
Wait! Even _I_ see the injustice of it.
JOHN.
[_Eagerly._] You do?
OLIVE.
Haven’t I told you I am reasonable at last? For whether she be innocent
or guilty is no longer the question.
JOHN.
I’m glad that is no longer the question!
OLIVE.
The point is, this woman is entitled to the benefit of the doubt.
[_Rising and walking to and fro._] But how can she ever receive the
benefit of the doubt if those words, which imply the doubt, are always
to hang over her?
JOHN.
That’s it!
OLIVE.
And they will hang over her—for ever.
JOHN.
For ever.
OLIVE.
For ever. [_Turning to him._] Unless I cancel them—remove them.
JOHN.
You!
OLIVE.
I could, John—by my attitude towards her in public—in society.
JOHN.
[_Staring at her._] Why, certainly you could.
OLIVE.
[_Leaning over a chair, and speaking almost into his ear._] Would you
like me to?
JOHN.
Like you to!
OLIVE.
I want to atone to you, if I can, in some measure, for the suffering
I’ve caused you. Would you like me to right Mrs. Fraser?
JOHN.
Oh, Olive!——
OLIVE.
John!
JOHN.
[_With emotion._] If you were always so generous—so good!
OLIVE.
[_Drawing back, suddenly._] Ah!
JOHN.
[_After a brief pause._] I’ve offended you by saying that.
OLIVE.
[_In a hard voice._] You are evidently very keen concerning her.
JOHN.
[_Blankly._] Keen!
OLIVE.
She’s a vulgar, common little thing, I’m afraid.
JOHN.
That’s not true.
OLIVE.
Her people are common—excessively bad tone.
JOHN.
Her people are now her husband’s people. She is married to a gentleman.
OLIVE.
Mr. Fraser has been away from her as much as possible—[_her eyes
flashing_]—_you_ know that better than anybody.
JOHN.
[_Indignantly._] Why do you come here—after all our struggles and
failures, after the injury you’ve endeavoured to do me! Why do you
torture me, and insult me, by trying to repeat the old heart-breaking
scenes?
[_He throws himself into a chair, distractedly. There is a
pause; then she slowly goes to a chair, drags it towards
him, and sits beside him._
OLIVE.
[_Panting._] Torture _you_? Oh! oh, I suffer too! [_Rocking herself to
and fro._] Well, there can be no punishment for jealous women in another
world; we are damned in this.
JOHN.
[_In a muffled voice, with his head on his hands._] And the fire has
burnt out in you, you tell me!
OLIVE.
I suppose the cinders still retain a little heat, dear.
JOHN.
[_Brokenly._] Dear!... dear!...
OLIVE.
Yes. I know my actions are contradictory, but—[_her hand stealing
towards his_]—in my heart, John—always—in my heart—— [_The banjo
suddenly strikes up an air._ JOHN _and_ OLIVE _raise their heads and
stare at each other; then_ OLIVE _slowly backs her chair to its original
position. Speaking in a whisper._] What’s that?
JOHN.
Peter.
OLIVE.
Peter——!
JOHN.
He brought his banjo with him.
OLIVE.
[_Aghast._] Why——!... Oh!
JOHN.
[_Blankly._] Eh?
OLIVE.
If _we_ hear the banjo with such distinctness——
[_They rise. He hurriedly ascends the steps and disappears
through the_ portière. _The music of the banjo stops
abruptly, and the sound of voices comes from the
library._ QUAIFE _enters, carrying a lamp which he
deposits on the table; then, always watching_ OLIVE, _he
lights the standard-lamp and draws the window-curtains_.
SHAFTO.
My dear fellow——!
ELPHICK.
My dear Jack——!
JOHN.
Sssh!
SHAFTO.
You might have remembered——
JOHN.
Sssh! sssh! [_The voices in the library are hushed._
OLIVE.
[_Commanding herself, and crossing to the fireplace._] And how are you,
Quaife?
QUAIFE.
Very well indeed, I thank you, ma’am.
OLIVE.
And your wife?
QUAIFE.
Exceedingly healthy, ma’am, for a stout person.
OLIVE.
I hope you look after Mr. Allingham thoroughly, all of you.
QUAIFE.
[_Dropping his voice, impressively._] We regard him as a trust, ma’am,
if I may make use of the expression.
OLIVE.
[_Sharply._] A what?
QUAIFE.
A solemn trust, ma’am.
OLIVE.
[_Turning away._] Stuff and nonsense!
QUAIFE.
I beg pardon, ma’am, if I have gone too far.
[JOHN _returns_.
JOHN.
[_Coming down the steps, a little flustered._] Quaife.
QUAIFE.
Sir?
JOHN.
Er—Mr. Shafto and Mr. Elphick don’t dine.
QUAIFE.
Not dine, sir!
JOHN.
They have to go on to Leatherhead at once. Is the boy ready to carry
their bags to the station?
QUAIFE.
The boy can be worried till he’s ready, sir.
JOHN.
All right.
[QUAIFE _withdraws_. JOHN _and_ OLIVE _now speak in
whispers_.
OLIVE.
I don’t wish this.
JOHN.
They offered to go; they’d rather go.
OLIVE.
Have they heard much?
JOHN.
Er—next to nothing; a syllable or two when we were sitting there. That’s
why Peter struck up a tune. [_Laughing a little wildly._] Ha, ha, ha!
OLIVE.
[_In the same way._] Ha, ha, ha! [_Glancing towards the door._] Shall I
slip into the dining-room while they pass out?
JOHN.
Please don’t. They’re old friends of both of us; they understand
perfectly——
OLIVE.
[_Returning to the fireplace._] I’ll face it out, if you wish it.
JOHN.
[_Calling._] Denzil—Peter——
[SHAFTO _and_ ELPHICK _sedately emerge from the library, and
descend the steps_. SHAFTO _bows to_ OLIVE.
OLIVE.
[_Advancing, shaking hands with him across the table, graciously._] Oh,
Mr. Shafto, I am so sorry to upset everybody in this way——
SHAFTO.
Not at all. I—ah—we—er—my father—at Leatherhead——
[ELPHICK, _encumbered with his banjo and the banjo-case,
joins_ SHAFTO. JOHN _goes to the door_.
OLIVE.
[_Shaking hands with_ ELPHICK _across the table_.] Why should you lose
your dinner? I have really finished all my—my business with my—with—Mr.
Allingham.
ELPHICK.
[_With an effort, earnestly._] No, you haven’t, Mrs. Allingham. Take it
up, when we’ve gone, where you broke off. [_Wringing her hand._] Do
everything you’ve offered to do; try and square things——
[JOHN _comes to him and draws him away towards the door_.
JOHN.
[_To_ OLIVE.] Excuse me; one moment——
[_The three men go out, leaving_ OLIVE _staring before her_.
JOHN, SHAFTO, _and_ ELPHICK _are heard talking together
in the hall_.
JOHN.
[_Outside._] My dear Denzil! my dear Peter——!
SHAFTO.
[_Outside._] My good fellow, we are not, at present, in the least
hungry.
[OLIVE _runs up the steps and disappears in the library_.
JOHN.
[_Outside._] No conveyance of any kind to get you to the station——!
ELPHICK.
[_Outside._] Much prefer walking, I assure you.
SHAFTO.
[_Outside._] Good-bye.
ELPHICK.
[_Outside._] Enjoyed seeing the cottage again enormously.
[_The sound of the voices dies away_; _a clock in the
library strikes nine_; JOHN _returns_.
JOHN.
[_Looking round._] Olive—Olive——
[_She reappears._
OLIVE.
You didn’t tell me the truth. You can hear the slightest sound in there.
JOHN.
I beg your pardon. Those men went clean out of my head. I was an ass.
OLIVE.
[_Descending the steps._] And that idiot offers me his advice! Take it
up where you broke off!
JOHN.
At least, it’s good advice.
OLIVE.
Where _did_ we break off?
JOHN.
At Mrs. Fraser——
OLIVE.
[_Walking up the stage, beating her hands together._] Mrs. Fraser! the
eternal Mrs. Fraser! Oh!... oh!... [_Throwing herself into the chair
facing the window._] I shall be quite calm in a moment. [_Faintly._]
Those men upset me.
JOHN.
[_Going to her, solicitously._] To-day has been as exhausting for you as
for the rest of us. Of course, there’s a dinner prepared here——
OLIVE.
[_Quickly, half-frightened._] Oh, no, dear; I couldn’t sit down to table
with you; I’m not entitled to do that. Fetch me a glass of wine and a
biscuit—[_appealingly_]—don’t let a servant bring it, John. [_He goes to
the dining-room door, she rises, and calls him._] John!—[_her head
drooping_]—do you think we shall ever sit at the same table again, you
and I?
JOHN.
[_After a pause, sitting, looking away from her._] Oh, Olive, Olive!
remember——!
OLIVE.
[_Fidgeting with the cigarette-box._] Not for many years, of
course—three or four years, at least. Time makes the oddest things
possible.
JOHN.
[_Thoughtfully._] I suppose so.
OLIVE.
It would appear supremely ridiculous to the world, you’re afraid?
JOHN.
Pish! the world don’t matter a damn.
OLIVE.
[_Softly._] Ah, that’s delicious!
JOHN.
What is——?
OLIVE.
I haven’t heard a man swear since I turned you out of Pont Street.
[_Dreamily, almost inaudibly, as she plays with a cigarette._] Damn!
[_He looks round at her; she is lost in thought; suddenly she crushes
the cigarette, and flings it from her fiercely._] Ah! Theo Fraser
smokes!
JOHN.
[_Starting up in a rage._] Hah! hah!
[_He goes out of the room._
OLIVE.
[_Following him a few steps, penitently._] Oh, John!—— [_There is a
knock at the upper door._] Yes?
[QUAIFE _enters, with some cards on a salver_.]
QUAIFE.
[_Looking round._] I beg pardon, ma’am; a lady and two gentlemen would
like to see Mr. Allingham, if it’s not disturbing him.
[_She goes to the table and examines the cards._
OLIVE.
[_In a hard voice._] Are these people friends of Mr. Allingham’s? Have
they ever called on him before?
QUAIFE.
No, ma’am. [_Hesitatingly._] I fancy the eldest of the two gentlemen
came once, if not twice, to Pont Street in—in—in your time, ma’am.
OLIVE.
I’ll give those to Mr. Allingham. [_He lays the cards out on the
table._] You’ll be rung for. [_He goes towards the door._] You haven’t
mentioned that I am here?
QUAIFE.
Oh, no, ma’am. I simply said Mr. Allingham was engaged for the moment.
OLIVE.
Quite right; thank you.
[_He withdraws. She eagerly scrutinises the cards,
re-arranges them upon the table, then goes to the
fireplace and stands waiting impatiently._ JOHN
_re-enters, carrying a decanter of champagne and some
biscuits in a silver dish, which he places on a
side-table_.
JOHN.
This is the Moet we had just begun to drink when we—— You rather liked
it, I fancy.
OLIVE.
Some people have called; they’re waiting to see you.
JOHN.
[_Turning._] People—so late?
OLIVE.
[_Pointing to the table._] These are their cards.
JOHN.
[_Picking up the cards._] “Mrs. Cloys,” “Mr. Claude Aylmer Emptage,”
“Sir Fletcher Portwood.” Mrs. Cloys—that’s an aunt.
OLIVE.
[_Stonily._] An aunt——?
JOHN.
An aunt of Mrs. Fraser’s. What can they want with me?
OLIVE.
Isn’t it curious!
JOHN.
I assure you I haven’t the slightest idea. I suppose nothing has
happened to her!
OLIVE.
To Mrs. Fraser?
JOHN.
Yes.
OLIVE.
Oh, no, nothing ever happens to these women with fair hair and heavy
eyelids.
JOHN.
[_Biting his lip._] Really?
OLIVE.
You will see them, I suppose?
JOHN.
I can’t refuse to see them.
OLIVE.
May I—may I wait till they have gone?
JOHN.
Oh, Olive——! [_She walks to the dining-room, he following her._] I won’t
let them detain me very long.
OLIVE.
[_Rapidly, agitatedly, facing him, her hand on the door-handle._] This
is a most extraordinary visitation. These three people—her relatives—to
come down on you like this, at such an hour!
JOHN.
I am sure you will find that their visit admits of a perfectly
reasonable explanation.
OLIVE.
I’ve no doubt!
JOHN.
You shall have the fullest account of what passes between us.
OLIVE.
How shall I know it is a full account?
JOHN.
[_Leaving her._] Oh——!
OLIVE.
[_Advancing quickly._] No, I don’t mean that! [_Her hand to her heart._]
Oh, do make some allowance for me, for my state of mind!
JOHN.
[_Turning abruptly._] Have you the courage to meet these people with me?
If so, you can begin to-night to carry out your promise to serve Mrs.
Fraser; you can tell her relatives now what your intentions are towards
her.
OLIVE.
[_Falteringly._] Certainly, I have the courage to meet them.
[_Advancing, tremblingly, breathlessly._] But do you know where you are
drifting, John?
JOHN.
Where I am drifting——?
OLIVE.
Yes. I mean—what position are you willing to give me before these
people?
JOHN.
Position——?
OLIVE.
I couldn’t submit to be treated as a culprit; and there is only one
other possible position for me.
JOHN.
What is that?
OLIVE.
The—the—the wife.
JOHN.
[_Slowly._] The wife.
OLIVE.
[_Tearfully._] Oh——! oh, I would try!
[_He leaves her, and walks about agitatedly. She sits on the
settee, weeping._
JOHN.
[_Rather wildly._] Well, I—I only want to cleanse the slate. My cursed
stupidity has smeared poor little Mrs. Fraser’s character; I want to put
_that_ right. It cuts me to the heart to see how wretched _you_ are,
Olive; I want to put _that_ right. Oh, if we fail again——!
OLIVE.
We c—c—can’t fail again—it’s impossible!
JOHN.
[_Desperately, throwing himself into the chair._] All right! Heaven have
mercy upon us—we’re reconciled! Ring the bell. [_She rises and touches
the bell-press, and with the aid of the mirror over the mantelpiece
attempts to adjust her hair and straighten her bonnet, he watching
her._] By Jove, you have pluck!
OLIVE.
To face these people?
JOHN.
[_With a short laugh._] I call it true courage.
OLIVE.
It’s nothing; I am so happy. Oh, John, you shall never regret this.
[QUAIFE _enters_.
JOHN.
[_Rising._] Show Mrs. Cloys and the two gentlemen in here.
QUAIFE.
Yes, sir.
JOHN.
Tell them that Mr. and _Mrs._ Allingham are now disengaged.
QUAIFE.
Yes, sir. [_He withdraws._
OLIVE.
[_Turning sharply._] _Mrs._ Allingham——?
JOHN.
It wouldn’t be quite fair to spring you upon them suddenly——
OLIVE.
You’ve given them warning; they may hurry away, to avoid me!
JOHN.
No, no——
OLIVE.
If they did do such a thing——! [_Agitatedly._] Gurrrh! I can’t get my
bonnet to sit straight. May I take it off, and receive them as if I
were—at home?
JOHN.
If you would rather do so——
OLIVE.
[_Going to the dining-room door._] Is there a mirror in here?
JOHN.
Yes. [_She goes out hurriedly._] Let me hold the lamp for you——
[_He follows her. After a brief pause_, QUAIFE _re-enters,
showing in_ MRS. CLOYS, SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD, _and_
CLAUDE. QUAIFE _withdraws_.
MRS. CLOYS.
[_After looking round the room._] The wife.
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
The wife!
MRS. CLOYS.
Who could have anticipated anything so extraordinary.
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
[_Walking about uneasily._] Harriet, your theories and suspicions have
involved us in an entanglement of—ah—an unexpected kind.
CLAUDE.
[_Moodily._] A reg’lar mess, I call it.
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
I wish your choice of expressions was a little happier, Claude——
MRS. CLOYS.
The boy is right; and we must get out of this as quickly as possible.
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
Yes, yes; yes, yes.
CLAUDE.
But I don’t believe the woman will have the daring effrontery to show
her face to us; to _me_—the brother!
MRS. CLOYS.
If she does appear, Fletcher, how on earth are we to explain our visit?
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
Never explain, Harriet. I once explained in the House——
MRS. CLOYS.
Devil take the House!
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
Harriet!
MRS. CLOYS.
Heaven forgive me!
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
You are unhinged—not yourself. No, no, we must simply avail ourselves of
any topic that presents itself.
MRS. CLOYS.
Mercy on us! there’s only one topic that _can_ present itself.
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
I am not often nonplussed. You had better watch me closely; follow my
lead—tsch!
JOHN _enters with_ OLIVE, _who is now without her outdoor
apparel_.
JOHN.
[_After bowing to_ MRS. CLOYS.] How do you do, Sir Fletcher? [_Nodding
to_ CLAUDE.] How are you, Emptage?
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
[_With a wave of the hand towards_ MRS. CLOYS.] My sister, Mrs. Cloys.
JOHN.
Mrs. Cloys, Sir Fletcher; there have been some most unhappy differences
between my wife and myself in the past, as you know too well.
Unfortunately, she and I have not been the only sufferers from these
differences; we have dragged others along with us. However, we met this
evening, half an hour ago, and are—reconciled——
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
[_In a murmur._] Very proper—very sensible——
JOHN.
And I have my wife’s authority for saying that her feeling towards Mrs.
Fraser are now considerably—in fact, entirely—— But she will speak for
herself. [_Presenting_ OLIVE, _awkwardly_.] Er—my wife.
OLIVE.
[_To_ SIR FLETCHER _and_ MRS. CLOYS, _graciously_.] Pray sit down. [MRS.
CLOYS _sits again_.] Sir Fletcher, we knew each other years ago——
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
I am delighted to renew—[_pulling himself up uneasily_]—that is, of
course——
[OLIVE _sits on the left and_ SIR FLETCHER _on the right of
the table_.
OLIVE.
[_Addressing_ MRS. CLOYS.] Mrs. Cloys, it is only fair to you that I
should say at once that I don’t expect Mrs. Fraser’s relatives to treat
me at all tenderly over the painful proceedings which terminated to-day.
[MRS. CLOYS _bows stiffly_; SIR FLETCHER _eyes her anxiously_.] So I beg
that you will speak before me entirely without reserve. [_Looking at_
JOHN.] It is my husband’s wish that you should do so.
JOHN.
Certainly.
[MRS. CLOYS _and_ SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD _sit staring before
them in a glassy way_; OLIVE _again glances at_ JOHN,
_puzzled_.
OLIVE.
[_A little impatiently._] Naturally, Mrs. Cloys, I can’t think that you
have taken this inconvenient journey to-night without some very special,
some very definite object.
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
Er—so far as I am concerned, the object of my visit is in a great part
attained when I have given Mr. Allingham my assurance that only absolute
proof of his unworthiness will ever induce me to withdraw my friendship
from him. I am nothing if not a just man——
JOHN.
Genuinely obliged to you, Sir Fletcher.
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
Oh, I am not ashamed of my simple faith in young English manhood and in
the efficacy of a training at one of our most honoured public schools.
True, I was never a public-school boy myself——
CLAUDE.