my niece’s reputation in Lennox Gardens! [_Recovering her composure._]
But enough of that. [_Calmly, amiably._] We do understand one another,
do we not?
JOHN.
[_Shortly._] Oh, perfectly.
MRS. CLOYS.
That’s right. [_Arranging her bonnet-strings, which have become slightly
disordered._] Excuse me for breaking out in this fashion. [_She goes to
the door, he following her. At the door she turns to him with grave
dignity._] I’m afraid I’ve impressed you as being rather a tigress.
[_She goes out. He closes the door after her and stands
staring at the ground for a moment; then he gently turns
the key in the lock and carefully draws the_ portière
_across the door. He is about to put his finger upon the
bell-press when he pauses._
JOHN.
[_In a low voice._] Olive. Olive. I have not yet rung the bell. Do you
stop me? [_A pause._] Won’t you stop me?
[_He waits; there is no answer; with an angry gesture he
rings the bell. After a brief pause_ QUAIFE _enters_;
THEOPHILA _follows. She is dressed as in the previous
Act, but is now thickly veiled._ QUAIFE _gives a puzzled
look round the room and withdraws_.
THEOPHILA.
[_Advancing and speaking in a weak, plaintive voice._] Oh, Jack——!
[_They shake hands, but in a constrained, rather formal way._] Of
course, we could have had our talk very well in the lane; but it’s kind
and considerate of you to ask me in.
JOHN.
Oh, not in the least. [_Confusedly._] I—er—I—Do sit down.
[_She looks at him, expecting him to find her a chair. In
the end, after a little uncertainty, she seats herself
on the right of the table. In the meantime he ascertains
that the door by which_ THEOPHILA _has entered is
closed_.
THEOPHILA.
[_Lifting her veil._] I’m afraid you’re a little angry with me for
hunting you up.
JOHN.
Angry? Why should I be angry?
THEOPHILA.
Well, I suppose it _is_ another—what d’ye call it?—injudicious act on my
part. But it seemed to me, if I thought about it at all, that we came so
badly out of it to-day, that nothing matters much now. At any rate, _my_
character’s gone.
JOHN.
[_Advancing a step or two, but avoiding her eye._]
No, no——
THEOPHILA.
Oh, isn’t it? And yours has gone too, Jack; only a man gets on
comfortably without one. [_Facing him, her elbows on the table._] Well,
what do you think of my news?
JOHN.
[_Looking at her, startled._] By Jove, how dreadfully white you are!
THEOPHILA.
[_With a nod and a smile._] The looks have gone with the
character—[_putting her hands over her face_]—both departed finally.
JOHN.
[_Coming a little nearer to her._] Er—when you’ve had a little rest you
will see everything in a brighter light——
THEOPHILA.
I should have kept my appearance a good many years, being fair and
small. [_Removing her hands—looking up at him._] You used to tell me I
should last pretty till I’m forty-five. Do you remember? [_His jaw drops
a little, and he stares at her without replying._] Do you remember?
JOHN.
[_Moving away._] Oh—er—yes——
[THEOPHILA.
Is there anything wrong with you, Jack?
JOHN.
Wrong—with me? No.
[_She shifts to the other side of the table, to be nearer to
him. He eyes her askance._
THEOPHILA.
Why don’t you tell me what you think of my news?
JOHN.
Your news?
THEOPHILA.
[_Impatiently._] You’ve read my letter, Jack. I’m a—what am I?—a single
woman again; a sort of widow.
JOHN.
You are acting too hastily; you’re simply carried away by a rush of
indignation. Perhaps matters can be arranged, patched up. You mustn’t be
allowed to——
THEOPHILA.
Arranged! patched up! You don’t realise what you’re proposing! You
wouldn’t make such a suggestion if you had been a fly on the wall this
afternoon while Mr. Fraser and I were—having a little talk. [_Struggling
to keep back her tears._] Alec—my husband—he was very much in love with
me at one time! I never doubted that he would stand by me through thick
and thin. He has done so pretty well, up till to-day, up till the trial,
and then, suddenly, he—he——
[_She produces her handkerchief, rises, then moves away
abruptly, and stands, with her back to_ JOHN, _crying_.
JOHN.
[_Turning to the fire._] Mr. Fraser was taken aback, flabbergasted, I
expect, by the tone adopted by the judge to-day; there’s that poor
excuse for him. But a little reflection will soon——
THEOPHILA.
[_Drying her eyes._] Oh, don’t prose, Jack! [_Turning._] On the whole, I
think it’s better that he and I have at last managed to find out where
we are.
JOHN.
[_Turning to her._] Where you are?
THEOPHILA.
You know, there’s always a moment in the lives of a man and woman who
are tied to each other when the man has a chance of making the woman
really, really, his own property. It’s only a moment; if he let’s the
chance slip, it’s gone—it never comes back. I fancy my husband had _his_
chance to-day. If he had just put his hand on my shoulder this afternoon
and said, “You fool, you don’t deserve it, for your stupidity, but I’ll
try to save you——”; if he had said something, anything, of that kind to
me, I think I could have gone down on my knees to him and——[_Coming to_
JOHN _excitedly_.] But he stared at the carpet, and held on to his head,
and moaned out that he must have time, time! Time! Oh, he was my one bit
of rock! [_Throwing herself into a chair on the right._] If he’d only
mercifully stuck to me for a few months—three months—two—for a month——!
JOHN.
[_Going to her slowly and deliberately, and standing by her._] Mrs.
Fraser. [_She looks up at him surprised._] Of course, whatever future is
in store for you, nothing—no luck, no happy times—can ever pay you back
for the distress of mind you’ve gone through.
THEOPHILA.
Nothing, Jack—Mr. Allingham. [_Her hand to her brow._] Oh, nobody knows!
Oh, Jack, some nights—some nights—I’ve said my prayers.
JOHN.
I’ve found myself doing that too—in hansoms, or walking along the
street.
THEOPHILA.
Praying for _me_?
JOHN.
[_Nervously._] Y-yes.
THEOPHILA.
Oh, don’t make me cry again! Oh, my head! oh, don’t let me cry any
more——!
JOHN.
Hush, hush, hush! What I want to say is this. You knew young Goodhew?
THEOPHILA.
Charley Goodhew—the boy that cheated at baccarat?
JOHN.
He didn’t; he was innocent.
THEOPHILA.
I’m sure he was, poor fellow.
JOHN.
Well, he told me, one day in Brussels, that he managed to take all the
sting out of his punishment by continually reminding himself that it was
undeserved, that there wasn’t a shadow of justification for it. I
suppose it would be the same with a woman who—who gets into a scrape; an
innocent woman?
THEOPHILA.
It’s good, under such circumstances, if you can feel a bit of a martyr,
you mean?
JOHN.
That’s it. So, in the future, you must never tire of reminding
_yourself_ of the utter harmlessness of those hours we used to spend
together in Lennox Gardens.
THEOPHILA.
They were harmless enough, God knows.
JOHN.
[_Earnestly, eagerly._] God knows.
THEOPHILA.
And they were awfully jolly, too.
JOHN.
[_Blankly, his voice dropping._] Jolly——?
THEOPHILA.
You know—cosy, comforting.
JOHN.
Yes, yes—comforting. It was the one thing that kept me together during
those shocking Pont Street days of mine.
THEOPHILA.
Our friendship?
JOHN.
Our friendship. When I was in the deepest misery, the thought would come
to me: “Well, I shall see my little friend to-day or to-morrow.” And
then I’d go through our meeting as I supposed it would be—as it always
was——
THEOPHILA.
“’Ullo, Jack! good morning—or good evening. Oh, my dear boy, you’re in
trouble again, I’m afraid!”
JOHN.
“Dreadfully. I shall go mad, I believe—or drink.”
THEOPHILA.
“Mad—drink; not you. Sit down and tell me all about it.”
JOHN.
And so on.
THEOPHILA.
And so on. I had my miseries too.
JOHN.
Yes, you had your miseries too.
THEOPHILA.
And then you invariably came out with that one piece of oracular advice
of yours.
JOHN.
Ah, yes. “Don’t fret; it’ll be all the same a hundred years hence.”
THEOPHILA.
Which you couldn’t act upon, yourself. How vexed it used to make me—and
the ponderous way you said it!
JOHN.
Well, it was a good, helpful friendship to me.
THEOPHILA.
And to me.
JOHN.
[_Standing a little behind her; speaking calmly, but watching her
eagerly._] Because, all the while, there was never one single thought of
anything but friendship on either side.
THEOPHILA.
Why, of course not, Jack.
JOHN.
You’d have detected it in me, if there had been?
THEOPHILA.
Trust a woman for that.
JOHN.
And if you had for a moment fancied that I was losing sight of mere
friendship——?
THEOPHILA.
You!
JOHN.
What would you have done?
THEOPHILA.
Oh, one day, the usual headache; not at home the next—the proper thing.
But, Jack dear, I never felt the slightest fear of _you_—and that’s what
makes an end like this so cruel, so intolerably cruel.
JOHN.
Never felt the slightest fear of me——?
THEOPHILA.
No, never; oh, of course, a woman can tell. Somehow, I knew—I knew you
_couldn’t_ be a black-guard.
JOHN.
[_About to seize her hand, but restraining himself._] God bless you! God
bless you! [_He walks away and pokes the fire vigorously, hitting the
coal triumphantly._] Ah, ha, ha! [_Turning to_ THEOPHILA.] I beg your
pardon; you’re in the most uncomfortable chair in the room.
[_She rises and crosses the room._
JOHN.
[_Arranging the pillows on the settee._] You must be so weary, too. I’m
confoundedly stupid and forgetful to-night.
THEOPHILA.
[_Sitting on the settee._] Fancy! a fire in June!
JOHN.
[_Walking about elatedly, dividing his glances between_ THEOPHILA _and
the library_.] I love to see a fire.
THEOPHILA.
[_Suddenly._] Of course. [_Dropping her voice._] I remember. [_He stops,
staring at her._] Do you recollect? [_Steadily gazing into the fire._]
That night when we were sitting over the fire in that little room in
Lennox Gardens——
JOHN.
[_Hastily._] Oh, yes, yes——
THEOPHILA.
“I shall always burn a fire, Theo,” you said, “to bring back these
nights, these soothing, precious talks in the quiet hours. Wherever I
may be, I shall only have to light my fire to hear you and to see you—to
see you sitting facing me——”
JOHN.
Ah, that evening—yes, I was terribly—terribly down that evening [_Wiping
his brow._] By-the-bye, we—we mustn’t neglect the—the—the matter of
business—the little matter of business——
THEOPHILA.
[_Rousing herself._] Matter of——?
JOHN.
The matter of business you mention in your letter——
THEOPHILA.
[_Rising._] Oh, yes. [_Sitting on the left of the centre table._] Jack,
I—I do hope you won’t hate me for asking you. You see, if I went to any
one else, I should run a chance of having all my arrangements upset. I—I
want to borrow a little money——
JOHN.
Ah, yes, certainly—anything—I shall be most happy——
THEOPHILA.
This is exactly how I am placed. Mr. Fraser wanted to hurry me off
abroad—ah! that’s done with. Instead of that, you see, I’ve taken my
travels and my future into my own hands. I’ve telegraphed to Emily
Graveney, who was at Madame MacDonnell’s with us girls in the Rue
D’Audiffret-Pasquier. Emily is teaching in Paris now—I hardly know how
she scrapes along; she’ll be mad with delight to have my companionship.
But till the lawyers settle my position precisely as regards Mr. Fraser,
I’m practically broke, penniless. It’s a little ready-money I want.
JOHN.
[_Who has seated himself at the right of the table while_ THEOPHILA _has
been talking_.] You have only to tell me how much——
THEOPHILA.
Well, I think I could tide over with fifty pounds. I’m afraid you
haven’t got it in the house, though. I don’t want a cheque.
JOHN.
[_Taking out his keys and going to a table._] I believe I _can_ just
make it up——[_He opens a drawer in the writing-table, finds some
bank-notes, counts them, then empties his sovereign-purse and screws the
gold up in the notes._] Within a pound——
THEOPHILA.
That’s of no consequence. [_Rising._] I’m awfully obliged to you; I knew
you would—I—I——
[_He returns to her, and finds her clutching the table
unsteadily._
JOHN.
[_Placing the money on the table._] What’s the matter?
THEOPHILA.
Nothing. [_Sinking back into the chair, with closed eyes._] I shall be
all right in a minute.
[_He brings her a glass of water, and places it to her lips.
She sips the water for a little while, then gives a
sigh._
JOHN.
Better?
THEOPHILA.
I think so.
JOHN.
When did you last eat? [_She shakes her head feebly. He puts the glass
of water aside and fetches the biscuits._] Get two or three of these
down. Come—try——!
THEOPHILA.
[_Taking a biscuit._] Thank you.
[_He places the biscuits on the table by her side, and goes
back to the other table._
JOHN.
A glass of this champagne would pull you together.
THEOPHILA.
[_Nibbling the biscuit, her eyes still closed._] Would it? [_He brings
the decanter of champagne and a small tumbler. She, speaking faintly,
and opening her eyes._] Oh, do let me off this, Jack.
JOHN.
[_Pouring out some champagne._] No, no; stick to it—do.
THEOPHILA.
[_Watching him._] That looks nice. [_She puts the remains of her biscuit
on the table and stretches out her hand for the wine. He gives it to
her; she drinks._] Oh! oh! oh—h—h—h! [_There is a pause; there she
shakes herself, looks up at him, and breaks into a low, childlike little
laugh._] Ha! ha, ha, ha! I’d nearly gone, hadn’t I? [_Emptying her
glass._] Oh! oh!... Fetch yourself a glass, and we’ll drink luck to each
other. Then I really must be off. The porter said the trains run
every—every what was it? [_He brings a glass, which she fills, speaking
animatedly._] A tumbler! oh, fie! [_Filling her own glass._] Oh, mine’s
a tumbler too! [_Nodding to him._] Ourselves! [_Touching his glass with
hers._] Our two poor unfortunate selves! [_They drink._] Ha! I don’t
care! do you?
JOHN.
Care——?
THEOPHILA.
A hang. For anything; for what the judge said; for what people think.
Puh. Here’s to our friend, the judge——! [_Drinking, nearly emptying her
glass._] I hope his wife’s a cat who leads him a——! [_Jumping up
suddenly, her eyes dilating, holding her glass high in the air._]
Happiness and prosperity to Mr. Fraser! [_Loudly._] Mr. Fraser!
JOHN.
Sssh! oh, hush!
THEOPHILA.
Fraser of Locheen! [_She goes to the fireplace and flings the contents
of her glass into the grate._] Ha! well, that’s throwing good stuff
after poor, isn’t it? [_She places her glass on the table; the cigarette
box is open; she takes a cigarette._] The old sort?
JOHN.
[_Quickly._] No, no——
THEOPHILA.
[_Striking a match._] Only a whiff. [_Lighting her cigarette._] Sure I’m
not in the way, Jack, if I rest here a minute or two longer?
JOHN.
[_With a glance at the library._] C—certainly not.
THEOPHILA.
[_Throwing herself upon the settee in a careless attitude, smoking._]
Oh, thank God for this rest! [_Looking round._] So this is the little
place you used to tell me about——
JOHN.
[_Standing, watching her, apprehensively._] Um——
THEOPHILA.
Phew! Your fire’s all right to look at——! [_She removes her cape from
her shoulders and flings it away from her; he picks it up, and places it
over the back of a chair._] Never mind that rag. Are you likely to be in
Paris?
JOHN.
I—I’m not fond of Paris.
THEOPHILA.
[_Jumping up, and speaking volubly, excitedly, boisterously._] Suppose
that wire don’t find Emily, and she doesn’t meet me at the Nord
to-morrow night. Ugh! cheerful! She may be dead, No, no; not Emily. Poor
old Emily! Be sure you look me up if you _should_ pass through. Rue
Poissonnière, 18. You’re bound to be rambling soon. How lucky a man is!
Does just as he chooses. Good chap, So-and-so—awfully rackety—but the
world would be a dooced deal livelier if there were more like him!
That’s what they all say of a man!... phew!... [_As she rattles on, she
takes off her bonnet and clears her hair from her brow._] But a woman!
Well, look at _me_. Not that anybody _will_ look at me, in Paris or
elsewhere. I used to know several smart people in Paris! Now! Oh, my
stars, won’t they stalk distant objects when they see me coming along!
[_Angrily._] Ah, a gay time I shall have of it, shut up with Emily
Graveney, with her red nose, and her poor, narrow chest, and her
perpetual sniffle! [_She flings away her cigarette. Her hair is
disordered, her breath comes quickly, there is a wild look in her eyes.
Her bonnet falls to the floor. He paces the room distractedly._] By
Jove, I won’t have a dull time though! I shall only hang out with Emily
long enough just to turn round. Then I’ll take a little _appartement_ of
my own. Uncle Fletcher will make me an allowance; I won’t touch a penny
of—puh—_his_ money. I’ll let the world see how happy I am without the
character I’ve been robbed of! Yes, robbed of! [_Laughing noisily._] Ha,
ha, ha! [_Snapping her fingers._] Pish! I shall burst out laughing in
the face of the whole world, Jack—put my tongue out at the world, your
wife, my husband! After the solemn farce we’ve all gone through.
[_Between her teeth._] Y—y—yes, they shall have a pretty picture in
their minds of _me_, t’other side of the Channel, with my finger to my
nose like a cheeky urchin! Oh, my heavens, how I hate ’em—hate ’em—hate
’em!
JOHN.
Mrs. Fraser——! Mrs. Fraser——!
THEOPHILA.
Oh, the devilish injustice of it! To think that we’re still married,
Jack—you and I! Hah! the mockery! To think that we wander about the
world still with our owner’s marks branded upon us! Ha, ha! I believe
I’ve an “F” branded upon my shoulder—burnt in! [_Running to him._] Oh, I
won’t bear it! I can’t bear it!
JOHN.
Hush, hush!
THEOPHILA.
I shall go mad if I can’t pay out that wife of yours! [_Shrilly._] She’s
ruined me! I will be even with her!
JOHN.
Hush——!
THEOPHILA.
And with _him_!—that fish!—that cold, flapping fish! [_Clinging to him,
suddenly._] Jack——! I wouldn’t bore you! I wouldn’t bore you, Jack——!
JOHN.
Bore me!
THEOPHILA.
Ah-h-h-h! take me away! Let’s you and I go together——!
JOHN.
[_Putting his hand over her mouth._] Ah, for God’s sake——! [_The clock
in the library is heard to strike._] It’s too late! too late!
THEOPHILA.
[_Drawing back, looking into his face._] Too late——? [_There is a sharp
knocking at the dining-room door._] What’s that? [_The knocking is
repeated._] Who is it?
JOHN.
Mrs. Cloys is here.
THEOPHILA.
[_Her hand to her brow._] Mrs. Cloys—aunt——!
JOHN.
Mrs. Cloys, Sir Fletcher, and your brother were with me when your note
arrived. They want to see you.
THEOPHILA.
See me—See me——
JOHN.
[_Gripping her wrist._] Pull yourself together, Mrs. Fraser——[_The
knocking is again heard._ JOHN _goes to the door_.
THEOPHILA.
[_In a whisper._] Jack! [_He pauses; she seems dazed._] They—they
haven’t heard—a word of—oh, of what I’ve said to you?
JOHN.
Heard——! N-no. Are you ready?
[_He pulls aside the_ portière, _unlocks the door, and opens
it_. MRS. CLOYS _enters_; SIR FLETCHER _and_ CLAUDE
_appear in the doorway_.
MRS. CLOYS.
You have tried my patience long enough, Mr. Allingham. [_She goes to_
THEOPHILA; JOHN _walks away, and stands with his back to those in the
room._] Come! you have had ample time for your _business interview_.
[_Staring at_ THEOPHILA.] What’s wrong with you?
THEOPHILA.
[_Sinking into a chair._] N-nothing.
MRS. CLOYS.
Where’s your cape—and your bonnet?
[THEOPHILA _looks round vacantly_.
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
Cape? cape? Here’s a cape.
[_He hands the cape to_ MRS. CLOYS; _she snatches it from
him, and puts it round_ THEOPHILA’S _shoulders_. CLAUDE
_picks up the bonnet, and brings it to_ MRS. CLOYS,
_then goes to the upper door, and stands there waiting_.
MRS. CLOYS.
[_Raising_ THEOPHILA.] You are not well; you are ill. Fletcher——! [SIR
FLETCHER _goes up to the steps leading to the library_.] Where are you
going?
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
My hat——[_He pushes the_ portière _aside, then draws back_.] Mrs.
Allingham——! [_Hesitatingly._] Er—I believe I have left my hat here,
Mrs. Allingham. May I——? [_He enters the library._
THEOPHILA.
Mrs. Allingham! Mrs.—Allingham——!
MRS. CLOYS.
Yes, yes.
[SIR FLETCHER _comes out of the library, carrying his hat_.
THEOPHILA.
[_To_ MRS. CLOYS.] Mrs. Allingham! his ... wife!
MRS. CLOYS.
Mr. and Mrs. Allingham have arranged their differences. [_Looking from_
THEOPHILA _to_ JOHN.] Why, don’t you know?
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
[_Coming down the steps._] Haven’t you seen Mrs. Allingham?
THEOPHILA.
Seen her——?
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
This evening—here——?
THEOPHILA.
Here!
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
Your interview with Mr. Allingham has taken place in this room?
THEOPHILA.
In this room? Yes——
MRS. CLOYS.
Come——
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
Wait, Harriet, please! Allingham—Mr. Allingham—pardon me for putting
such a question: surely you have not allowed—allowed—been a party to——?
MRS. CLOYS.
Allowed—what?
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
[_Looking towards the library._] Harriet, you can hear most distinctly,
in the library——
MRS. CLOYS.
Hear——!
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
Overhear—certainly, overhear——
MRS. CLOYS.
No, no! [_Going to_ JOHN.] Preposterous! [_After a pause._] Mr.
Allingham, why should Mrs. Allingham—be there? [JOHN _is silent_.] What
has passed between you and——? Your wife has not been—listening?
JOHN.
[_Desperately._] Mrs. Fraser—has said—nothing to me that a—a just woman
can bring up against her——
MRS. CLOYS.
_Listening!_
JOHN.
[_Almost inaudibly._] Yes. [_Passionately._] But you don’t know——!
[_Calling in a loud voice.]_ Olive! Olive——!
[OLIVE _comes out of the library and stands at the top of
the steps_. THEOPHILA _regards her for a moment blankly,
then goes to the balustrade, and stares up at her. After
a brief pause_ THEOPHILA _joins_ MRS. CLOYS, _but
seeing_ JOHN, _she comes unsteadily towards him and
looks him in the face. Then as she turns away to_ MRS.
CLOYS, _she utters a groan, and tumbles to the floor at_
JOHN’S _feet_.
END OF THE SECOND ACT.
THE THIRD ACT
_The Scene is the same as in the previous Act, but a few articles of
furniture are differently disposed about the room. There is no fire;
and flowers decorate the fireplace. The windows are open and the
light is that of a fine afternoon in summer._
FRASER _is seated upon the settee_. JOHN ALLINGHAM _appears in the
garden, looks into the room, glares fiercely at_ FRASER, _coughs
significantly, and walks away. When_ JOHN _has gone_, FRASER,
_glancing at the window, rises, and, with an angry exclamation,
crosses the room_. MRS. CLOYS _and_ JUSTINA _enter_; MRS. CLOYS _is
dressed as in the previous Acts, but without her bonnet and mantle_;
JUSTINA _is in a bright morning-dress_.
MRS. CLOYS.
[_To_ FRASER.] She insists upon rising; she will see you in a few
minutes.
FRASER.
Thank you.
MRS. CLOYS.
She is excessively weak and shattered; you must remember that.
FRASER.
Yes, yes. I can never adequately express my gratitude——
MRS. CLOYS.
[_Sitting upon the settee._] Tsch!
JUSTINA.
Aunt has been up with her the whole night.
MRS. CLOYS.
Not alone. Mrs. Allingham——
FRASER.
Mrs. Allingham——?
MRS. CLOYS.
Mrs. Allingham begged to be allowed to keep me company. There was a
little scene between us—but the woman is, to some extent, human, I find.
FRASER.
Oh, I’ve no doubt that Mrs. Allingham is ashamed of herself——
MRS. CLOYS.
I hope we are all ashamed of ourselves. In the end I was far from sorry
to have her companionship. Your poor wife didn’t come out of her swoon
till nearly one o’clock this morning. Then Dr. Erskine went home and
Mrs. Allingham and I took our places by the bedside—[_to_ JUSTINA]—till
you arrived at breakfast-time, Justina.
JUSTINA.
[_To_ FRASER.] And I brought old Sarah, who used to maid us girls when
Theo was at home; she’s dressing her now.
FRASER.
Mrs. Cloys, pray help me with your advice.
MRS. CLOYS.
[_Bridling._] Oh—h—h——!
FRASER.
No, no—about Mr. Allingham. Ha! of course if we were Frenchmen we should
fight a duel——
JUSTINA.
Certainly, my dear Alec, and he would kill you.
FRASER.
Perhaps; that doesn’t follow.
JUSTINA.
It doesn’t follow, because it can’t follow. But he _would_ kill you and
everybody would say of you, “Serve him right; another unsatisfactory
husband disposed of!” And you would be buried, and my sister would be
free and would go to Trouville in August in her weeds, and we should all
have a splendid time generally.
FRASER.
[_Dryly._] If we were French.
JUSTINA.
Yes. [_Going to the window._] Why aren’t we French!
MRS. CLOYS.
Justina——!
FRASER.
[_Advancing to_ MRS. CLOYS, _hesitatingly, uncomfortably—lowering his
voice_.] I can’t deny that I have behaved in a very poor fashion to
Theophila——
JUSTINA.
[_Looking into the garden._] Deny it! no!
FRASER.