room._] Ha!
[_All turn their heads towards_ CLAUDE, _surprised_.
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
[_Rising, and going to_ CLAUDE.] No, but I am still capable of rejoicing
when I see the traditions of popular British institutions worthily
upheld. The world was my public school——
OLIVE.
[_Changing her position._] Mrs. Cloys——
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
[_Eyeing_ OLIVE, _and returning quickly_.] Er—is there a question more
vital, more absorbing, than this great vexed question of Education? Is
there a question which calls more imperatively upon the attention of
thinking men——?
OLIVE.
[_Turning to him with a forced smile._] But, Sir Fletcher, you surely
haven’t brought Mrs. Cloys all the way to Epsom that she may hear you
discuss Education with my husband?
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
[_Disconcerted._] No, no. Good! ha, ha! good! Excellent! Er——
[_Suddenly._] Now, this cottage—I wonder whether I may ask how many
rooms?
OLIVE.
How many rooms!
JOHN.
Twelve.
OLIVE.
[_Between her teeth._] Twelve.
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
The reason I put the question is this: my dear brother-in-law, the
bishop——
MRS. CLOYS.
[_Under her breath._] Eh?
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
[_Looking at_ MRS. CLOYS _significantly_.] The bishop often suffers from
the effects of severe intellectual strain, and it has more than once
struck me that for a few weeks in the year this peculiarly invigorating
air—— [_Going to the dining-room door._] The arrangements appear to be
most convenient. May I?
JOHN.
The dining-room.
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
[_Opening the door and peeping into the room._] Delightful! I can
picture the bishop sitting there, my sister there, myself, perhaps, over
there—delightful! [_Closing the door and moving away, pointing to the
upper door._] The hall and the little card-room I have seen. [_Rapping
the table._] But the grand question is, Mrs. Allingham—would you let?
That’s the point, Allingham—would you feel inclined to let?
JOHN.
Oh, if his lordship did us the honour of expressing a wish——
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
That’s extremely good-natured. [_Trying to catch_ MRS. CLOYS’ _eye_.]
You hear, Harriet?
MRS. CLOYS.
[_With a gulp._] Yes.
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
[_Pointing to the steps._] And here?
OLIVE.
[_Struggling to suppress her anger._] The library—the library.
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
Have I permission?
OLIVE.
Oh, by all means.
[SIR FLETCHER _bustles up the steps and enters the library_.
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
[_Out of sight._] Cheerful—very cheerful. A paucity of volumes, but the
bishop would bring his own books.
OLIVE.
[_Quickly._] Sir Fletcher, while you are there, do examine the little
clock on the mantelpiece. The case is modern oriental.
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
[_Out of sight._] Ah, yes, yes.
OLIVE.
I gave it to Mr. Allingham some years ago. Count those curious stones
round the dial. [_To_ MRS. CLOYS, _rapidly but forcibly, dropping her
voice_.] Mrs. Cloys, I confess I find it difficult to accept Sir
Fletcher’s suggestion that you are engaged at this time of night in
hunting for fresh air for the bishop. I——
[_Upon_ SIR FLETCHER’S _disappearance_, CLAUDE _advances and
stands waiting for an opportunity to speak_.
CLAUDE.
[_Breaking in in a hollow voice._] As Mrs. Fraser’s brother——
[_All turn their heads towards_ CLAUDE _again_.
OLIVE.
[_With clenched hands._] Oh! I am endeavouring to speak to Mrs. Cloys——
CLAUDE.
Pardon me. As Mrs. Fraser’s brother, and as, perhaps, the chief sufferer
from the result of to-day’s proceedings——
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
[_Appearing suddenly on top of the steps, no longer carrying his hat._]
What’s this? What’s this?
CLAUDE.
I refuse to be silenced. As Mrs. Fraser’s brother, I desire to say that
I did not expect to be received to-night by the lady who has done her
best—her utmost——
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
Sssh! sssh!
MRS. CLOYS.
Be quiet, Claude, please!
OLIVE.
[_Rising and going to_ JOHN.] John, really——
JOHN.
[_Hotly._] Look here, Emptage, you’re a boy—at any rate, a very young
man——!
CLAUDE.
I am a truly unfortunate young man. A blight has been cast upon my name
at the very outset of my career——
JOHN.
[_Bluntly._] What career?
CLAUDE.
Well, when I am turning various careers over in my mind——
MRS. CLOYS.
Enough, Claude——!
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
[_Coming down the steps._] Why, when I was five years younger than he I
had already applied my lever to the mountain. I first saw light in
’forty-four——
OLIVE.
[_To_ JOHN.] Oh——!
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
’Forty-four; an easily remembered date—two fours. And what was I doing
at his age?
OLIVE.
Mrs. Cloys——
MRS. CLOYS.
Go away, Claude!
CLAUDE.
[_Retiring._] Ha, at least I have had the courage to speak out——!
[_He throws himself into a chair at the back, and in course
of time falls asleep. His head is seen to drop back upon
his shoulder; an arm hangs over the side of the chair._
OLIVE.
[_Advancing to the table, imperatively._] Mrs. Cloys——
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
I——
MRS. CLOYS.
[_Firmly._] Excuse me, Fletcher; I believe Mrs. Allingham is looking to
me for some further explanation. [_Sitting._] Mrs. Allingham, happening
to become acquainted to-day, for the first time, with several features
of this disagreeable business, I thought—it was a fancy of mine—that I
should like to—to meet Mr. Allingham—to talk over—to——
OLIVE.
[_Sitting._] To talk over——?
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
To thresh it all out with John—with Allingham.
OLIVE.
[_Quickly._] It has not been sufficiently threshed out, then, in the
Divorce Court?
MRS. CLOYS.
[_Hastily._] Quite sufficiently. [_Eyeing_ SIR FLETCHER _reprovingly_.]
My brother doesn’t interpret me correctly. Er—as I have told you, it is
a fancy of mine—to meet Mr. Allingham.
OLIVE.
Just to make his acquaintance?
MRS. CLOYS.
[_Steadily._] Just to make his acquaintance.
JOHN.
[_Uncomfortably._] Very pleased—very gratified——
OLIVE.
[_With a hard smile._] This is rather an odd hour for such a call.
MRS. CLOYS.
It would have been earlier but for a little difficulty in discovering
Mr. Allingham’s whereabouts.
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
[_Genially._] When ladies have fancies they don’t study the hour before
indulging them.
OLIVE.
I am afraid it _is_ so, in your family, Sir Fletcher.
[MRS. CLOYS _makes a movement, but restrains herself_.
JOHN.
[_In a low voice._] Olive——!
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
Er—the fact is, my sister shares with me the Lavater-like faculty for
judging character at sight.
OLIVE.
Judging character by face, manner?
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
Yes. I possess it in a remarkable degree. I remember——
OLIVE.
[_To_ MRS. CLOYS.] Oh, I see! You are here to—to form an impression of
Mr. Allingham?
MRS. CLOYS.
Sir Fletcher a little exaggerates my powers; but I confess I am, like
many people, very sensitive to receiving impressions through such
mediums.
OLIVE.
I hope your impressions of my husband will be to his advantage.
MRS. CLOYS.
[_Looking at_ JOHN.] I think I may say at once that they are not
unfavourable.
OLIVE.
Because the necessity you find for estimating my husband’s character
shows—you know what it shows?
MRS. CLOYS.
Mrs. Allingham——?
OLIVE.
It shows, obviously, that if you are uncertain as to my husband’s
innocence, you must be equally doubtful of the innocence of your niece,
Mrs. Fraser.
MRS. CLOYS.
[_Rising._] I—I beg that you will not put such a construction on what I
have said——
OLIVE.
[_Rising._] What other construction——?
JOHN.
Olive, you are not keeping your promise——
OLIVE.
[_Passionately._] I will keep my promise when I am treated openly and
fairly. [_Walking away._] I feel something is going on here that I don’t
understand, that I am not allowed to understand.
JOHN.
[_To_ MRS. CLOYS _and_ SIR FLETCHER.] I am extremely sorry. But my wife
is very fatigued and unstrung to-night——
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
Quite so, quite so. We are most inconsiderate, Harriet. Come—come;
another time——
OLIVE.
[_Turning._] No, no! Mrs. Cloys——
MRS. CLOYS.
[_Facing_ OLIVE _firmly_.] Mrs. Allingham, I think, when we look back
upon this evening, that you and I will be able to congratulate ourselves
upon a considerable exercise of politeness. But there are signs that
neither of us is equal to a prolonged strain.
OLIVE.
I beg your pardon; I will be patient. You need have no misgivings on my
account.
MRS. CLOYS.
[_Formidably._] Perhaps not; but I am beginning to be acutely conscious
of my own weakness. [_Looking round._] Fletcher——
OLIVE.
[_Angrily._] Oh, oh!
[_She paces the room_; JOHN _joins her, and is seen
expostulating_. MRS. CLOYS _joins_ SIR FLETCHER.
JOHN.
Olive, Olive, be reasonable!
OLIVE.
I will be, when you and your friends are honest with me.
[_She leaves him, as_ QUAIFE _enters with a note upon a
salver_.
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
[_Looking at his watch._] Oh, Allingham, the hotel people were to send a
carriage up for us; perhaps you’ll get your servant——
JOHN.
Certainly. [_To_ QUAIFE.] Quaife—what’s that?
[_Upon entering_, QUAIFE _has encountered_ MRS. ALLINGHAM;
_her eyes fall upon the letter on the salver_.
OLIVE.
[_Under her breath, staring at the letter._] Ah-h-h!
QUAIFE.
Ma’am?
OLIVE.
[_Drawing back and speaking to_ QUAIFE.] Well, give it to Mr. Allingham.
QUAIFE.
A boy has brought this, sir—waiting for an answer.
[JOHN _is about to take the letter; when he sees the writing
upon the envelope he hesitates for a moment and draws
his hand back; then he picks up the letter
deliberately_.
JOHN.
[_To_ QUAIFE, _calmly_.] Wait; I’ll ring.
[QUAIFE _retires_.
OLIVE.
[_Pointing to the letter._] Isn’t that letter from Mrs. Fraser?
JOHN.
[_After opening the letter._] Yes. [_He reads the letter to himself._]
Poor little lady! This is bad news.
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
[_Agitatedly._] Really, Mr. Allingham, really?
JOHN.
Don’t you know? She has left her husband.
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
Er—yes, sir, we do know it—certainly we know it. I was almost the last
person she spoke to before she quitted her mother’s house. She is deeply
attached to me. [_Buttoning his coat._] Where is she? Where is she?
JOHN.
I gather she is waiting not very far from this house——
OLIVE.
[_Breathlessly._] Waiting——!
JOHN.
She—she wishes to see me.
OLIVE.
[_In a low voice._] Oh, yes. [_Sitting, her hands tightly gripped
together._] Oh, yes.
JOHN.
[_Going to her and handing her the letter._] Read it, please, Olive.
OLIVE.
[_After a pause, holding the letter between her finger and thumb,
reading._] “Station Hotel, Epsom. My dear old Jack”—— [_Hastily
returning the letter to_ JOHN, _with a shudder_.] Take it from me!
JOHN.
[_Reading aloud._] “My dear old Jack”—[_looking round, simply_]—we have
known each other many years—[_reading_]—“oh! I have had such a job to
find you. I shall plant myself at some quiet spot near your cottage and
get a messenger to bring this to you. The messenger will show you where
I am, if you will only consent to see me for a few moments on—[_looking
round_]—on a matter of business.”
[MRS. CLOYS, _concealed from the others by_ SIR FLETCHER,
_sinks on to the settee_.
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
Ha, a matter of business! Of course, a matter of business.
JOHN.
[_Resuming._] “I have left my husband. He turned against me at the end
and crushed my one hope of being able to whitewash myself.” The cur!
[_Resuming._] “Am off to Paris the first thing in the morning. Very
likely this is the last chance you will ever have of a word with your
poor little friend, Theo.” [_To_ SIR FLETCHER.] Sir Fletcher, I
congratulate you on finding your niece; please tell her that it is
impossible for me to grant her request.
OLIVE.
[_Calmly._] Oh, but wait. [_Rising._] Surely it would be rather uncivil
to refuse what Mrs. Fraser asks.
MRS. CLOYS.
[_Rising._] I can be trusted to explain——
OLIVE.
But she is apparently in need of some business service which my husband
can render her.
MRS. CLOYS.
Now that she is again in the hands of her relatives there can be no
necessity for troubling Mr. Allingham.
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
Not the slightest; not the slightest.
OLIVE.
Perhaps not. But before such a very curt message is sent to Mrs. Fraser,
will you do me the favour of letting me have two or three minutes’
conversation with my husband alone?
MRS. CLOYS.
I—I am anxious to go to my niece.
OLIVE.
Two minutes. Please, John.
[JOHN _goes to the dining-room door and opens it. After a
moment’s hesitation_, MRS. CLOYS _goes to the door_.
MRS. CLOYS.
[_Turning._] I beg that I may not be detained longer.
[_She passes out;_ JOHN _follows her, leaving the door
open_.
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
[_Standing over_ CLAUDE, _shaking him_.] Wake up, sir! wake up!
CLAUDE.
[_Waking._] What is it? eh? [_Rising._] Hullo, Uncle!
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
You’ve been sleeping, sir; your manners are appalling.
CLAUDE.
[_Stupidly._] Where’s aunt?
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
[_Leading him towards the door._] In the next room. Come, sir! You are
deficient in tact, delicacy——
[JOHN _re-enters._ SIR FLETCHER _passes him and goes out_.
CLAUDE.
[_As he passes_ JOHN.] The dining-room?
JOHN.
[_To_ CLAUDE.] I shan’t keep you more than a minute or two.
CLAUDE.
[_In the doorway, turning to_ JOHN.] Allingham, of course you and I can
never again be the same to each other as we have been in the past; but
may I take the liberty of foraging for a piece of cake?
JOHN.
[_Laying a hand on his shoulder._] Certainly.
[CLAUDE _goes out_; JOHN _closes the door and turns to_
OLIVE.
OLIVE.
[_Facing him._] Well?
JOHN.
[_Advancing to her._] Well?
OLIVE.
Oh, could anything be clearer? It’s easy enough now to see through the
twaddle these people have been talking! Mrs. Fraser runs away from her
husband, who believes her guilty; her relatives go in pursuit; they look
for her and find her—where?
JOHN.
Her relations chance to be here when Mrs. Fraser sends for me——
OLIVE.
[_Mockingly._] Yes!
JOHN.
[_Referring to the letter._] Desiring to see me “for a few moments, upon
a matter of business.” That is all that can be made of it.
OLIVE.
A matter of business!
JOHN.
This letter is not quite ingenuous, you infer.
OLIVE.
You’ve caught the tone of the lawyers exactly.
JOHN.
[_Hotly._] “A matter of business” is a lie, you mean?
OLIVE.
Her arrival to-night is a remarkable coincidence.
JOHN.
A perfectly natural one.
OLIVE.
Why are you so eager, then, to avoid granting her the interview she asks
for?
JOHN.
Eager——!
OLIVE.
You send word to her that it’s impossible.
JOHN.
Don’t you make it impossible?
OLIVE.
No, I do not; I do not. I want you to meet her to-night; you’ve heard me
say I wish it.
JOHN.
You mean that?
OLIVE.
If ever I meant anything in my life.
JOHN.
[_Referring to the letter._] “I shall plant myself at some quiet spot
near your cottage——”
OLIVE.
Ah, no! never mind the quiet spot near the cottage. Why can’t you have
your business interview here?
JOHN.
Here?
OLIVE.
[_In a low voice, her head drooping._] Where we are now, while
I—[_glancing towards the library_]—while I take my place in there?
[_There is a pause; he stands looking at her for a moment
silently._
JOHN.
And this is how you propose to carry out your undertaking to make amends
to Mrs. Fraser?
[_He turns away from her._
OLIVE.
Everything is altered since—since——
JOHN.
Since we were reconciled! reconciled!
OLIVE.
Since I promised to aid Mrs. Fraser. The arrival of these people—that
letter—has undone everything. [_Throwing herself upon the settee
despairingly._] Oh, they knew well enough where their bird would fly to!
[_Burying her face in the pillows._] Oh, John, you’ll kill me!
JOHN.
Ha! and so you would like to try Mrs. Fraser twice in one day! And there
would be no mistake this time, no doubt whatever! Innocent or
Guilty—guilty for choice!
OLIVE.
No, no, innocent. But I want to be satisfied. Only satisfy me?
JOHN.
Satisfy you! My heavens!
OLIVE.
Satisfy me! satisfy me!
JOHN.
And what a model judge of this lady you would make, of any woman you are
jealous of! How scrupulously fair! how impartial! how——
OLIVE.
I would be just, John; I would be!
JOHN.
[_Savagely taking a cigarette from the box on the table and sticking it
between his teeth._] Women of your temperament detect a leer in the
smile of a wax doll.
OLIVE.
I give you my word that I will make every allowance for you both, if you
will let me hear you together. You _are_ old friends—“chums” was her
expression for it in the witness-box to-day—and you are Jack and Theo to
each other, naturally; I am prepared for all that kind of thing. She can
kiss you good-bye when she parts from you—[_beating her brow_]—I can
comprehend even _that_. Only—only let me be satisfied by her general
tone and bearing, by that unmistakable ring in the voice, that she has
never been the arrant little profligate I once thought her.
[JOHN _now sitting staring at the carpet and chewing the end
of his cigarette_.
JOHN.
Supposing I—consented, and you were—satisfied——?
OLIVE.
[_Rising and speaking earnestly and rapidly._] We are in June; I would
have her to stay with me. My friends, her own friends, should see that
we were close companions. She should go everywhere with me; my arm
should always be through hers. I would get a crowd together; she should
receive my guests with me. Oh, by Goodwood week her reputation should be
as sound as any woman’s in England! Come! think of the dreadful days and
nights she’s given me, whether she’s good or bad! Come! wouldn’t that be
generous?
JOHN.
[_In a low voice._] Look here! you would swear to me you’d never use
against her anything that might arise during our meeting—I mean anything
that your cursed jealousy could twist into harm?
OLIVE.
Solemnly. If she proclaimed herself openly in this room to be
your—[_with a stamp of the foot he rises_]—she should go scot-free, for
me. If she behaved as an innocent woman, she might walk over me in the
future, trample on me; I’d be a slave to her. Only satisfy me!
[_He goes to the writing-table, and rapidly scribbles a
note. She watches him with eager eyes. When he has
finished writing, he takes an envelope, rises, comes to_
OLIVE, _and holds the note up before her_.
JOHN.
“Come to the cottage.—J. A.”
[_She inclines her head. He touches the bell-press. Then he
encloses the note in the envelope, which he fastens, and
hands to_ OLIVE.
OLIVE.
Why?
JOHN.
Take it. [_She takes it wonderingly._] I have met your demands so far.
Now, if you wish to do a womanly thing, you’ll throw that on the fire.
[QUAIFE _enters_; OLIVE _stands staring before her. Speaking in measured
tones, keeping his eyes on_ OLIVE.] Quaife, the note which Mrs.
Allingham will give you is for the messenger.
QUAIFE.
Yes, sir.
JOHN.
If a lady arrives, ask her to sit down in the card-room; let me know
when she comes. I am alone, should the lady make any inquiries.
QUAIFE.
Very good, sir.
JOHN.
Olive, Quaife is waiting for the note. [_There is a pause; then_ OLIVE
_turns suddenly and hands_ QUAIFE _the note. He goes out. There is
another pause._] And after this—after this!—you and I! Upon what terms
do you imagine you and I will be after this?
OLIVE.
Oh, if she comes out of it well, I will be so good to her——
JOHN.
[_Contemptuously._] Ah——!
OLIVE.
[_Clutching his arm._] I will make you forgive me for it; I will make
you! [_He releases himself from her, almost roughly, and moves away,
turning his back upon her._] Of course, you will not mention to Mrs.
Fraser that you and I are in any way—in any way——?
JOHN.
Reconciled! [_Sitting on the settee, laughing wildly._] Ha, ha, ha——!
[_Turning to her._] Why not?
OLIVE.
Naturally, she wouldn’t open her lips to you at all if you did.
JOHN.
[_Waving her away._] Faugh!
OLIVE.
[_Her hand to her brow._] You are—very—polite—[_She walks slowly and
painfully towards the steps, pausing in her walk, and referring to her
watch._] John, when the talk between you and Mrs. Fraser has—gone far
enough, I will strike ten on the bell of the little clock in here. You
understand?
JOHN.
When you are satisfied!
OLIVE.
[_Beginning to ascend the steps, with the aid of the balustrade._] When
I am satisfied.
JOHN.
Olive——! [_She stops._] It’s not too late now for us to think better of
playing this infernally mean trick upon her.
OLIVE.
[_Steadily, in a low hard voice._] Why, nothing can arise, during this
interview, injurious, in the mind of any fair person, to Mrs. Fraser’s
reputation?
JOHN.
[_Starting to his feet._] Nothing! nothing!
OLIVE.
Then I am clearly serving Mrs. Fraser’s interests by what I am doing.
[_She disappear into the library. After a brief pause_, JOHN
_hastily goes to the dining-room door, and opens it
slightly_.
JOHN.
Mrs. Cloys! Mrs. Cloys!
MRS. CLOYS.
[_From the dining-room._] Yes.
JOHN.
Let me speak to you? [MRS. CLOYS _enters; he closes the door sharply,
speaking hurriedly and excitedly_.] I—I have altered my mind about
meeting Mrs. Fraser——
MRS. CLOYS.
Altered your mind——?
JOHN.
I have sent a note to her by her messenger asking her to see me here.
MRS. CLOYS.
Mr. Allingham, I protest against this as quite unnecessary.
JOHN.
Pardon me. [_Producing_ THEOPHILA’S _letter, and speaking disjointedly,
uneasily_.] On—on consideration, it seems to me that—that—for
everybody’s sake, I have to satisfy my wife that Mrs. Fraser’s presence
is due solely to the most innocent causes.
MRS. CLOYS.
Mrs. Allingham has, I take it, arrived at certain conclusions as to the
motive of my visit?
JOHN.
She has.
MRS. CLOYS.
And now, Theophila following upon our heels——?
JOHN.
It is a most unfortunate accident——
MRS. CLOYS.
[_Eyeing him penetratingly._] Mr. Allingham, you have no doubt whatever
of the absolute genuineness of my niece’s excuse for calling upon you?
JOHN.
Oh, Mrs. Cloys——!
MRS. CLOYS.
[_Sitting._] Yes, I admit that I came here to-night to ask you to pledge
your word to us that Theo should run no further risk from her—her
acquaintanceship with you; to entreat you, if she should be so base, so
abandoned——
JOHN.
You mean you thought it possible, probable, that this lady had run away
from her husband and friends with the deliberate intention of joining
me—me! [MRS. CLOYS _covers her eyes with her handkerchief_.] Great
Heaven, I suppose there _is_ no living soul who will believe in an
honest friendship between a young man and a young woman!
MRS. CLOYS.
There are certain rules for the conduct of friendship, Mr. Allingham——
JOHN.
[_Excitedly._] Rules! The world is getting choked with rules for the
conduct of everything and every body! What’s the matter with the world
that a woman has to lose her character and paint her face before she is
entitled to tell a man her troubles, and hear his in return, across a
dying fire, by lamplight, when the streets are still and a few words of
sympathy and encouragement stir one like a sudden peal of bells——?
[_He stands by the fire, bowing his head upon the
mantelpiece._
MRS. CLOYS.
[_Looking at him, and speaking in a low voice._] Ah! a dying fire, the
lamplight, the still streets——! The world is what it is, Mr. Allingham.
JOHN.
Yes, and it’s a damnable world!
QUAIFE _enters_.
QUAIFE.
The lady has arrived, sir.
MRS. CLOYS _rises_.
JOHN.
[_To_ QUAIFE.] When I ring, show her in here.
QUAIFE _withdraws_.
MRS. CLOYS.
[_Agitatedly._] Mr. Allingham, you will not let Theo slip through my
fingers; you won’t let her escape me——? [_Looking at him._] Oh, I will
trust you so far.
JOHN.
You may. I only ask you to allow me to have my interview with Mrs.
Fraser undisturbed.
MRS. CLOYS.
Ah, if you knew how I hate the idea of this meeting between you two!
[_Turning sharply._] I’ve a feeling that something evil is going to
result from it——!
JOHN.
I can only repeat, you’re wrong in what you think of me—[_turning
away_]—wrong, every one of you.
MRS. CLOYS.
[_Coming to him, her manner gradually changing to harshness, almost to
violence._] Well, understand me, Mr. Allingham! I’m inclined to—to
half-believe in you; you’ve an honest face and air—not that those things
count for much; but understand me: if you bring, in any shape or form,
further harm to her——!
JOHN.
[_Indignantly._] What further harm can I bring to her? You find me here
with my wife——!
MRS. CLOYS.