The Benefit of the Doubt; a Comedy in Three Acts
Part 1
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_THE BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT_
_THE PLAYS OF ARTHUR W. PINERO_ WITH INTRODUCTORY NOTES BY MALCOLM C. SALAMAN
Paper cover, 1_s._ 6_d._; cloth, 2_s._ 6_d._ each In 16mo
VOL. I. _THE TIMES_ ” II. _THE PROFLIGATE_ ” III. _THE CABINET MINISTER_ ” IV. _THE HOBBY-HORSE_ ” V. _LADY BOUNTIFUL_ ” VI. _THE MAGISTRATE_ ” VII. _DANDY DICK_ ” VIII. _SWEET LAVENDER_ ” IX. _THE SCHOOLMISTRESS_ ” X. _THE WEAKER SEX_ ” XI. _THE AMAZONS_
Also _In small 4to._
” XII. _THE SECOND MRS. TANQUERAY_ ” XIII. _THE NOTORIOUS MRS. EBBSMITH_ ” XIV. _THE BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT_
_LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN_ _MDCCCXCVI_
_THE BENEFIT_ _OF THE DOUBT_
_A COMEDY_ _In Three Acts_
_BY ARTHUR W. PINERO_
_LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN_ _MDCCCXCVI_
_Copyright 1895 All rights reserved Entered at Stationers’ Hall Entered at the Library of Congress, Washington, U.S.A._
_This Play was produced at the Comedy Theatre, London, on Wednesday, October 16th, 1895_
THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY
MRS. EMPTAGE (_a widow_) CLAUDE EMPTAGE (_her son_) JUSTINA EMPTAGE } (_her daughters_) THEOPHILA FRASER } SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD, M.P. (_her brother_) MRS. CLOYS (_her sister_) RT. REV. ANTHONY CLOYS, D.D., Bishop of St. Olpherts ALEXANDER FRASER—“Fraser of Locheen” JOHN ALLINGHAM OLIVE ALLINGHAM DENZIL SHAFTO } (_Allingham’s Friends_) PETER ELPHICK } MRS. QUINTON TWELVES HORTON (_a servant at Mrs. Emptage’s_) QUAIFE (_a servant at Mr. Allingham’s_)
_The scenes are placed at Mrs. Emptage’s house, in the neighbourhood of Regent’s Park, and at “The Lichens,” Mr. Allingham’s cottage at Epsom._
_The events of the First and Second Acts occur on the same day, those of the Third Act about fifteen hours afterwards._
THE BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT
THE FIRST ACT
_The Scene represents a drawing-room in_ MRS. EMPTAGE’S _house near Regent’s Park. At the back are double doors, opening on to a further drawing-room, and these face a window, over which the blinds are drawn, to moderate the glare of the sun, which nevertheless streams through them, for it is a fine afternoon in early summer. The rooms are furnished and decorated in a costly and tasteful fashion._
MRS. EMPTAGE _is reclining upon the settee, her eyes closed, a bottle of smelling-salts in her hand_. JUSTINA _is pacing the room between the door and the window_. MRS. EMPTAGE _is a pretty, carefully-preserved woman with dyed hair and “touched-up” face: she is old enough to be the mother of a daughter of nine-and-twenty_. JUSTINA _is of that age, good-looking, “smart,” and already somewhat passé. Both are fashionably but sombrely dressed._
MRS. EMPTAGE.
Tell me the time once more, ’Tina.
JUSTINA.
[_Referring to her watch._] A few minutes to four, mother.
MRS. EMPTAGE.
Does the judge of the Divorce Court invariably rise at four o’clock?
JUSTINA.
He may sit a little later under special circumstances.
MRS. EMPTAGE.
To have done with a case if it’s very near its end?
JUSTINA.
So I’m told.
MRS. EMPTAGE.
They must all be here soon, whether that happens or not.
JUSTINA.
Yes, yes. Oh, but if the confounded thing should last into another day!
MRS. EMPTAGE.
A third day’s suspense will kill me.
JUSTINA.
Ma, I suppose, really, we ought to be reading our Church Services or something.
MRS. EMPTAGE.
I can’t concentrate my attention in the least; I have been glancing at “The Yellow Book.”
JUSTINA.
Hark! what’s that?
MRS. EMPTAGE.
I don’t hear anything.
JUSTINA.
It _is_ somebody!
[HORTON, _a manservant, appears_.
HORTON.
Mrs. Quinton Twelves.
MRS. EMPTAGE _struggles to her feet as_ MRS. QUINTON TWELVES _enters_. HORTON _retires_. KATE TWELVES _is a lively, handsome young woman, brightly dressed_.
JUSTINA AND MRS. EMPTAGE.
[_Throwing themselves upon her._] Kitty!
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
[_Kissing them._] Well, well, well, well!
JUSTINA.
Is it over?
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
Not quite; that is, it wasn’t when I came away. It’s all over by now, I expect.
MRS. EMPTAGE.
[_Hysterically._] Oh, Kitty——!
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
Sssh, sssh! everything has gone swimmingly, I tell you.
JUSTINA.
For Theophila?
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
Of course, for Theophila.
MRS. EMPTAGE.
[_Sinking back on to the settee._] I felt sure it would.
JUSTINA.
But what was happening when you left?
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
The dear old judge was just beginning to deliver his decision—his judgment.
JUSTINA.
Oh, how _could_ you come away then?
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
Certainly, it was a wrench. Only, Theo wrote little notes to Sir Fletcher Portwood and to Claude and me. [_Taking a screw of paper from her glove._] Here’s mine. [_Reading._] “I won’t have anybody I am fond of, except my husband, in Court at the finish. They tell me they are sure I am cleared, but it frightens me to think you are all _waiting_. Go to mother’s.”
MRS. EMPTAGE.
[_Taking the note._] My poor child! [_Reading it._] “... they are sure I am cleared....” ’Tina, she’s cleared!
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
Cleared! I wish you could have heard Sir John Clarkson’s opening speech for Theophila this morning. There was quite a murmur of approval when he sat down.
JUSTINA.
He let that wretch, Mrs. Jack Allingham, have it—eh? He did!
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
He said that a morbidly jealous wife is one of the saddest spectacles the world presents; but that when her jealousy leads her to attempt to blacken the reputation, the hitherto spotless reputation, of another woman—in this instance, a young lady more happily married than herself—then that jealous wife becomes a positive danger to society.
MRS. EMPTAGE.
I ought to have been there, ’Tina. I said it was my duty, if you remember.
JUSTINA.
_I_ might have gone.
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
Certainly; and yet you have both sat at home, quaking; behaving, for all the world, as if you have a lurking suspicion that Theophila really may—really has—really did——
MRS. EMPTAGE.
Kate, I will not permit you to say such a thing!
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
Why these miserable-looking gowns then? You are dressed more funereally to-day than you were yesterday!
MRS. EMPTAGE.
[_Tearfully._] If you live to see a daughter of yours, however innocent she may be, dragged through the Divorce Court——!
JUSTINA.
We haven’t been quite certain what we ought to put on.
MRS. EMPTAGE.
I considered half-mourning rather a happy thought.
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
To my mind, it looks as if you had deliberately prepared for all emergencies.
MRS. EMPTAGE.
[_Rising, in a flutter._] ’Tina, pin some flowers in your dress at once! I’ll get Bristow to stick a bit of relief about me somewhere. And I’ll wear some more rings——
[_She goes out._ JUSTINA _selects some cut flowers from a vase on the pianoforte_.
JUSTINA.
Oh, Kit, we were dreadfully in the dumps. Bless you for bullying us!
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
[_Taking a pin from her hat._] Come here.
JUSTINA.
[_Going to_ MRS. TWELVES.] By Jove, though! it would have been _too_ rough on us if—if—wouldn’t it?
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
[_Attaching the flowers to the bodice of_ JUSTINA’S _dress_.] Pray complete your sentence.
JUSTINA.
Well—if Mrs. Allingham had made out her case against Jack Allingham and Theo.
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
For shame, ’Tina!
JUSTINA.
Oh, you’re awfully prudish all of a sudden, Kate. You’ve very soon forgotten—— Mind that pin!
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
What are you saying?
JUSTINA.
I mean, it isn’t as if we hadn’t all been just a _leetle_ rapid in our time, we three girls—Theo, you, and I. You needn’t be quite so newly-married-womanish with _me_.
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
Shut up!
JUSTINA.
[_Glancing round._] No one’s there.
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
[_In an undertone._] We always knew where to draw the line, I hope.
JUSTINA.
Of course we did. Only, when you’re married, as Theo is, to a cold, dry mummy of a man like Alexander Fraser, the line’s apt to get drawn rather zigzag.
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
[_Finishing with the flowers._] Go away!
JUSTINA.
Thanks—they’re jolly. [_Picking up a little mirror from the table, and making a wry face at herself._] I haven’t had a night’s sound sleep for weeks.
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
I should think not, with such thoughts in your head. Poor Theo! I’ve been fretting about her too, in a different way.
JUSTINA.
[_Adjusting the flowers with the aid of the mirror._] Yes, but it isn’t only Theo. I’ve been doing a bit of lying-awake on my own account, I can tell you.
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
Why?
JUSTINA.
[_Moistening her eyelashes as she again surveys her face._] Why, if this business had gone against my sister, it wouldn’t have bettered _my_ chances—eh?
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
No, perhaps it wouldn’t.
JUSTINA.
I’m twenty—oh, you know——
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
Nine.
JUSTINA.
Ugh, dash it, yes! And this beastly scrape of Theophila’s has been no end of a shocker for me. From to-day I turn over the proverbial new leaf.
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
So glad, dear.
JUSTINA.
Just fancy! I’m the only single one out of we three musketeers. Great Scot, Kate, suppose I got left!
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
[_With a laugh._] ’Tina!
JUSTINA.
But I won’t, you mark me! From to-day I’ll alter—I take my oath I will! No more slang for me, no more swears, no more smokes with the men after dinner, no more cycling at the club in knickers! I’ve been giving too much away——!
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
[_Listening._] Take care!
JUSTINA.
[_Glancing round._] Claude—back.
CLAUDE EMPTAGE, _a plain, stumpy, altogether insignificant young man enters—a young man with a pale face, red eyelids and nostrils, a dense look, and heavy, depressed manner_.
JUSTINA.
What news? Any?
CLAUDE.
It’s finished.
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
Finished!
JUSTINA.
Don’t tell me! How?
CLAUDE.
It’s all right for Theo. Mrs. Allingham’s petition dismissed.
JUSTINA.
Ho, ho! Ha, ha, ha! All right for Theo! [_Clapping her hands, almost dancing._ MRS. TWELVES _embraces her_.] All right for Theo!
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
Isn’t it splendid?
JUSTINA.
Ha, ha, ha! All right for——! Mother! ma! ma!
[_She runs out._
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
[_To_ CLAUDE.] You did wait then, in spite of Theo’s orders?
CLAUDE.
No, not in Court. I hung about outside, with Uncle Fletcher, to hear the result. [_Sitting, with a little groan._] Oh!
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
I must say, Claude, the victory hasn’t left you very cheerful.
CLAUDE.
Cheerful! Think of the day I’ve spent!
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
_You’ve_ spent!
CLAUDE.
Theophila’s brother! [_Pointing into space._] The brother of Mrs. Fraser of Locheen! The brother of the witness in the box! Every eye upon me!
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
[_Drily._] I see.
CLAUDE.
Oh, Kate, I’ve felt this business in more ways than one. It has been a terrible lesson to me.
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
[_Smiling._] My poor Claudio!
CLAUDE.
[_Not looking at her._] No, don’t pity me—despise me. Kitty, how easy it is for a fellow to imperil a woman’s reputation!
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
[_Amused._] Yes, isn’t it?
CLAUDE.
We attach ourselves to a pretty married woman; we lounge in her drawing-room, her boudoir; we make her our toy, our pastime. Do we allow a single thought of the scandal we may involve her in to check us in our pursuit of pleasure?
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
[_Demurely._] No, I suppose you don’t.
CLAUDE.
Never!
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
Perhaps you had better not come to tea with me quite so frequently in the future, Claude.
CLAUDE.
You are right; you, and others, must see less of me. [_Turning to her._] And yet, Kate, I am not all bad!
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD _enters. He is fifty-one, amiable, pompous, egotistical, foolish._
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
Why didn’t you wait for me, Claude, my boy?
CLAUDE.
Sorry; my brain was reeling.
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
[_Meeting_ MRS. TWELVES.] A very proper, a very satisfactory termination of this affair, Mrs. Twelves.
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
It has been awfully reassuring to see you beaming in Court, Sir Fletcher.
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
Ha! I daresay my attitude has been remarked. Beaming; why not? I’ve had no doubt as to the result.
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
No doubt of Theo’s innocence—of course not.
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
Innocent; that goes without saying—my niece. But the result, in any case, would have been much the same, I venture to think.
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
Really?
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
You see, my own public position, if I may speak of it——
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
Oh, yes.
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
[_Smiling._] And I happen to know the judge—slightly perhaps; but there it is.
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
But judges are not influenced by considerations of that kind?
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
Heaven forbid I should say a word against our method of administering law in this country. The House knows my opinion of the English Judicial Bench. At the same time, judges are mortal—I have never concealed that from myself; and Sir William and I have met. [_To_ CLAUDE.] You saw the judge look at me this morning, Claude?
CLAUDE.
No.
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
No? Oh, yes, and I half-smiled in return. Yesterday I couldn’t catch his eye, but today I’ve been half-smiling at him all through the proceedings.
JUSTINA _runs in, seats herself at the pianoforte, and thumps out the Wedding March_.
JUSTINA.
Well, Uncle Fletcher!
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
Ah! ha!
JUSTINA.
What price Mrs. Allingham?
MRS. EMPTAGE _returns. She has relieved the heaviness of her dress by a fichu of_ crêpe de soie.
MRS. EMPTAGE.
[_Embracing_ CLAUDE.] My darling! [_Embracing_ SIR FLETCHER.] Oh, my dear Fletcher! Be quiet, ’Tina!
[JUSTINA _plays the air of a popular music-hall melody, softly_; MRS. TWELVES _comes to her_.
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
I told you so—hey!
MRS. EMPTAGE.
We all said so.
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
But I’ve been the most emphatic——
MRS. EMPTAGE.
Where are Theo and Alec?
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
They went over to Sir John Clarkson’s chambers directly the case concluded—I fancy, to consult him on some little point that had arisen. I managed to get one word——
MRS. EMPTAGE.
[_Impulsively kissing_ MRS. TWELVES.] I’m so happy!
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
I contrived to get just one word with Alec as he was putting Theophila into the carriage. I wanted to tell him——
MRS. EMPTAGE.
[_Pacing the room, humming the air played by_ JUSTINA.] Tra, la, la! la, la! tra, la, la!
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
I wanted to tell him an amusing story I’d heard during the luncheon interval, but he hadn’t time to—— Ha, ha! It’s a legal anecdote. It appears that a fellow of the name of Babbitt once brought an action——
MRS. EMPTAGE.
Did the judge apologise, Fletcher?
[JUSTINA _stops playing_.
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
Apologise!
MRS. EMPTAGE.
To Theophila?
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
A judge never apologises.
MRS. EMPTAGE.
He might do worse, where such undeserved distress is occasioned a young wife and her husband——
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
Hear, hear!
MRS. EMPTAGE.
To say nothing of her mother!
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
I surmise that the judgment of my friend Sir William was very strongly worded, and I daresay an expression of regret followed from Mrs. Allingham’s counsel. But I had quitted the Court, you know——
MRS. EMPTAGE.
Oh, yes; Theo wrote you a note——
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
But you are losing my anecdote. It appears that a man of the name of Babbitt—— One thing, Muriel, I will stake my reputation upon.
MRS. EMPTAGE.
[_Peeping out at the side of the window blind._] What’s that?
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
That the public applauded the decision roundly.
MRS. EMPTAGE.
[_Pacing the room again._] I can hear them doing it! Bravo, Mrs. Fraser! Eh, girls?
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
Plucky Mrs. Fraser!
JUSTINA.
How jolly to have been there just then!
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
As a matter of fact, I talked with several strangers of a humble rank of life, and hinted that a few cheers—so regrettable and unseemly in a court of law as a rule—I hinted that a few cheers would undoubtedly be justifiable in the present instance, as well as peculiarly agreeable to me. It seems that Babbitt——
[HORTON _enters with a card_.
MRS. EMPTAGE.
[_After glancing at the card._] Oh——!
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
Eh?
JUSTINA.
What’s up?
MRS. EMPTAGE.
[_To_ HORTON.] Where _is_ Mrs. Cloys?
[SIR FLETCHER, JUSTINA _and_ CLAUDE _rise precipitately_.
HORTON.
In the morning-room, ma’am. She preferred——
MRS. EMPTAGE.
[_Taking the card._] I—I—some one will come to her.
[HORTON _retires_.
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
Harriet here!
JUSTINA.
By Jove!
CLAUDE.
[_Making for the door._] No; she is too impossible.
MRS. EMPTAGE.
[_Intercepting him._] Claude, I dare you to leave the house!
[SIR FLETCHER _also moves towards the door_.
MRS. EMPTAGE.
[_Stopping him._] Fletcher, you mustn’t!
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
Muriel, I distinctly prefer not to meet——
MRS. EMPTAGE.
But I must have every support; I am unequal to it otherwise. Who will fetch her upstairs? Fletcher, dear!——
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
In your establishment! Singularly inappropriate!
MRS. EMPTAGE.
[_Turning to_ JUSTINA.] Justina——
JUSTINA.
No thanks, ma.
MRS. EMPTAGE.
Brutes, all of you!
[_She hurries out._
JUSTINA.
Confound her!
CLAUDE.
I shall submit to none of her airs. What _is_ a bishop?
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
Why does she select this occasion——?
JUSTINA.
It’s nearly ten years since she washed her hands of us.
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
Exactly eleven years have elapsed since my sister Harriet placed it out of my power to continue on a footing of brotherly intercourse with her.
CLAUDE.
[_To_ MRS. TWELVES, _in a whisper_.] I know the story.
JUSTINA.
[_To him._] Sssh!
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
Her behaviour on that one memorable afternoon proved that her marriage to a dignitary of the Church was something worse than a fluke—a sacrilege.
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
[_Quietly to_ CLAUDE.] What is it?
CLAUDE.
[_Quietly to her._] She called him a Bore.
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
[_Going to_ JUSTINA.] Do you think I could steal downstairs and get away? She used to tell me I was an empty-headed little fool.
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
Outrageous!
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
And predicted I should end badly.
JUSTINA.
Well, you haven’t.
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
No, but there’s time, she’d say. [_Going towards the doors._] I’m off.
JUSTINA.
Sneak!
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
[_Returning hastily._] They’re coming up!
JUSTINA.
Let ’em!
MRS. CLOYS _enters, and stands surveying the room_. MRS. EMPTAGE _follows her_. MRS. CLOYS _is about fifty-three, handsome, dignified in bearing, richly but soberly dressed, in manner a mixture of sweetness and acerbity_.
MRS. CLOYS.
Justina—is it?
JUSTINA.
[_Going to her._] How do you do, Aunt Harriet?
MRS. CLOYS.
[_Kissing her, then eyeing her keenly._] H’m! _you’re_ not married yet, I believe?
JUSTINA.
No, I haven’t the slightest inclination that way.
MRS. CLOYS.
Oh, my dear, you still tell fibs, then?
JUSTINA.
Indeed, aunt?
[JUSTINA _retires_; SIR FLETCHER _advances_. MRS. CLOYS _kisses him, then looks him up and down_.
MRS. CLOYS.
Well, Fletcher, so they’ve knighted you, have they?
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
Lord Cranbery was gracious enough to recommend——
MRS. CLOYS.
How much did it cost you?
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
Cost me!
MRS. CLOYS.
Well, you’ve made money; I suppose you could afford it.
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
Pray let us——!
MRS. CLOYS.
Don’t puff yourself out at me, Fletcher.
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
I am doing nothing of the kind, Harriet.
MRS. CLOYS.
Then don’t.
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
Er—how is the bishop?
MRS. CLOYS.
Old.
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
Old? Let me see—my marvellous head for figures should serve me——
MRS. CLOYS.
Very old.
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
Born in——
MRS. CLOYS.
We’re all getting old; that’s why you have the pleasure of seeing me amongst you once more. [_Turning to_ CLAUDE, _who bows stiffly_.] My nephew? [_Shaking hands with him and looking him in the face searchingly._] You’re rather old too. [_Sharply._] Who’s that there?
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
[_Who has been hidden by the flowers on the piano-forte, advancing, with a nervous outburst._] Oh, I hope you remember me, dear Mrs. Cloys—Kitty Twelves. I was Kitty Powis, if you recollect.
MRS. CLOYS.
I recollect. Weren’t you at school in Paris with Justina and Theophila, and afterwards——?
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
Yes. Isn’t this interesting? Quinton, my husband, was _confirmed_ by the Bishop of St. Olpherts! I never discovered it till we’d been married for ages—I mean, weeks and weeks—[_gradually quailing under_ MRS. CLOYS’S _gaze_]—and then one day—he—he happened to see me kissing the sweetest photograph of you—and and—and——
MRS. CLOYS.
Mrs. Twills, I understood from my sister there was a purely family gathering here this afternoon——
MRS. QUINTON TWELVES.
[_Offering her hand._] I—I have to go on elsewhere——
MRS. CLOYS.
[_Detaining her hand._] My dear, _you_ were extremely old when I last saw you, during your first season, in eighty-something; I pray, now you’re married, that you are—younger.
[_They look at each other for a moment longer, then_ MRS. TWELVES _withdraws her hand, and, after nodding to the others in a scared way, goes out silently_. CLAUDE _follows her_.
MRS. CLOYS.
[_Sitting on the settee._] Muriel. [MRS. EMPTAGE _comes to her_.] We have been on bad terms for many years; let us have done with it. I suggest mutual concessions to disposition and temper.
MRS. EMPTAGE.
[_Sitting._] I am sure I have been more than desirous——
MRS. CLOYS.
You have brought up your children abominably; that was always our most serious point of dissension——
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
I may remind you, Harriet, that Muriel’s cheerful method of training her children has received my sympathy and sanction. On the death of the late Mr. Emptage——
MRS. EMPTAGE.
My poor dear Herbert——
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
It naturally devolved upon me——
MRS. CLOYS.
Sssh!
SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.
I am not one of those——
MRS. CLOYS.
Sssh, sssh, sssh!
MRS. EMPTAGE.