Part 2

Your twenty years of married life may have taught you how to manage a husband, Harriet, but——

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

Heaven has blessed you with no offspring.

MRS. EMPTAGE.

And the world isn’t all deans, and canons, and bishops and things——

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

A department of society you were thrown headlong into——

MRS. EMPTAGE.

By the merest chance, as you well know——

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

Without, I fear, possessing every qualification for the—ah—the exalted station which—which——

MRS. EMPTAGE.

And—and—and——

MRS. CLOYS.

[_To_ MRS. EMPTAGE.] There, there! Don’t, I say. Have done with it? At any rate, we’re grey-haired women now—I _am_, and you ought to be——

MRS. EMPTAGE.

Now, Harriet——!

MRS. CLOYS.

And judgment has overtaken you——

MRS. EMPTAGE.

Judgment!

MRS. CLOYS.

This terrible calamity that has befallen your girl Theophila. Oh, how is it going to end?

MRS. EMPTAGE.

My dear Harriet, it has ended.

MRS. CLOYS.

Has the case——?

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

Mrs. Allingham’s petition is dismissed—dismissed.

MRS. EMPTAGE.

My daughter has emerged triumphantly——

MRS. CLOYS.

Thank God! [_Rising._] Muriel——

[MRS. EMPTAGE _rises_; MRS. CLOYS _kisses her on both cheeks, then turns away_.

MRS. EMPTAGE.

You will see Theo and her husband in a few minutes. They are staying with me just now. “Weak, giddy mother,” am I, Harriet? My child flies to me in her trouble, nevertheless.

MRS. CLOYS.

[_Wiping her eyes._] The dear bishop will be so rejoiced. Not a newspaper has been taken at the Palace this week. [_Resuming her seat._] It has hit us hard. How did it all come about?

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

In this way. I——

MRS. EMPTAGE.

[_Sitting again._] Why, we’ve all known Jack Allingham for years——

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

[_Sitting._] A good fellow—little dull, perhaps—little prosy——

MRS. EMPTAGE.

[_Glancing at_ JUSTINA.] At one time we thought he was rather inclined to pay ’Tina——

JUSTINA.

What rot, mother!

MRS. CLOYS.

Oh!

MRS. EMPTAGE.

However, he married this creature, Olive Harker—daughter of a Major Harker——

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

“Crummy” Harker—stout man——

JUSTINA.

Four years ago this month.

MRS. EMPTAGE.

Yes, in the summer of the year in which Theo was married to Fraser of Locheen.

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

My extraordinary chronological faculty ought to serve me here. Theophila and Locheen were married in the March, Jack Allingham and Miss Harker in the following June; _I_ took the chair that year at no less than three public dinners——

MRS. EMPTAGE.

Of course, when the two couples settled down in London the usual exchange of visits began. But from the first it was quite evident that Mrs. Allingham resented her husband’s friendship for Theo.

MRS. CLOYS.

Why should Mrs. Allingham have resented it?

JUSTINA.

Olive was always a jealous cat—person.

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

John is some months younger than his wife, I may tell you. No marriage can turn out happily when the balance of age drops ever so slightly on the woman’s side. My observation——

MRS. CLOYS.

Rubbish!

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

I know my world, Harriet.

JUSTINA.

What was it that Olive said about that, ma?

MRS. EMPTAGE.

When the wife is older than the husband every fresh little line in her face becomes an acute pain to her, just as if it were cut into her flesh, and renewed daily, with a knife. Those are Mrs. Allingham’s own words.

MRS. CLOYS.

Poor wretch!

MRS. EMPTAGE.

In her storms with Jack she used to rave out these things, and Jack would repeat them to Theo.

MRS. CLOYS.

What business had he to do that, pray?

MRS. EMPTAGE.

Well, his home had become such a hell that he fell into the way of rushing round to Lennox Gardens, to Theophila and Alec, to obtain relief from his worries.

JUSTINA.

He gradually became a sort of third in Lennox Gardens, you know, aunt.

MRS. CLOYS.

A sort of third?

MRS. EMPTAGE.

The house-friend who is continually running in and out——

JUSTINA.

The man who has dined with you almost before you know it, as it were.

MRS. CLOYS.

Oh! And is this all?

MRS. EMPTAGE.

All?

MRS. CLOYS.

All the justification a jealous woman has for seeking to divorce her husband?

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

Not divorce, Harriet; she wasn’t entitled to ask for that. Mrs. Allingham has been suing for judicial separation.

MRS. CLOYS.

Well, well——!

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

Accuracy with me is a perfect mania. Oh, yes, that’s all. With the exception of the—the——[_With a wave of the hand._] However——!

MRS. CLOYS.

Exception?

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

I was thinking of the bézique part of the case.

MRS. EMPTAGE.

[_Impatiently._] Yes, yes; but that’s of no consequence now.

MRS. CLOYS.

Bézique?

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

Allingham and Theophila happen, both of them, to be fond of cards. And when Fraser was away in Scotland——

MRS. CLOYS.

Away in Scotland? _Not_ with Theophila?

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

No, no; she loathes Locheen.

MRS. CLOYS.

I see. When Mr. Fraser was in Scotland and his wife was by herself in London——

MRS. EMPTAGE.

Then a little harmless bézique helped to kill the time.

MRS. CLOYS.

Theophila and Mr. Allingham killed time together?

MRS. EMPTAGE, JUSTINA, SIR FLETCHER.

[_In various tones._] Yes—yes—yes.

MRS. CLOYS.

Where was the time killed?

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

In Lennox Gardens.

MRS. CLOYS.

At Theophila’s house, in her husband’s absence. Is _that_ all?

MRS. EMPTAGE.

Absolutely all.

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

All the bézique part of the case. You see, the lawyers separated the case against Theophila into three divisions.

MRS. CLOYS.

Three! Number One?

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

The House-friend, as aforesaid.

MRS. CLOYS.

Two?

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

Bézique—as aforesaid.

MRS. CLOYS.

Three?

MRS. EMPTAGE.

I repeat, surely all this doesn’t matter now!

MRS. CLOYS.

Number Three?

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

Tannhäuser.

MRS. CLOYS.

In Heaven’s name, what——!

JUSTINA.

That was nothing. Alec Fraser was in Scotland as usual——

MRS. CLOYS.

As usual!

MRS. EMPTAGE.

No, no—as he is often obliged to be.

JUSTINA.

Alec was in Scotland, and Theo had been to the opera with pals——

MRS. CLOYS.

With——!

JUSTINA.

Friends, to hear Tannhäuser. She had sent her servants to bed, and let herself in with her latchkey. As she was closing the front door she caught sight of Jack Allingham on the other side of the way.

MRS. EMPTAGE.

He had had one of his terrible scenes with his wife; they lived round the corner, in Pont Street——

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

And a most charming house theirs was. I always say, with regard to Pont Street——

MRS. CLOYS.

[_Sternly._] Fletcher!

MRS. EMPTAGE.

Jack was in a dreadful state of distress; pacing the streets like a maniac, in fact——

JUSTINA.

He’s a very old friend of all of us——

MRS. EMPTAGE.

More like a brother than a——

JUSTINA.

And Theo begged him to come in——

MRS. EMPTAGE.

To calm himself. Simply an impulsive, warm-hearted act on her part.

JUSTINA.

And it wouldn’t have mattered in the least if that devil of a wife hadn’t suspected——

MRS. EMPTAGE.

And planted her maid outside Theo’s house—set of spies!——

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

Till three in the morning——

MRS. EMPTAGE.

When Theo turned Jack out.

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

Not _four_ in the morning, as Mrs. Allingham’s blundering counsel tried to establish. Ha, ha! Sir John Clarkson bowled him over there! Three, sir—not four!

MRS. CLOYS.

[_To_ SIR FLETCHER.] Be quiet! be silent!

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

Upon my word, Harriet——!

MRS. CLOYS.

[_To_ JUSTINA, _who rises_.] Go away! You can sit by and assist at the telling of a story of this nature, single woman that you are! [JUSTINA _walks away_.] What did I prophesy? Years ago, what did I prophesy? [_To_ MRS. EMPTAGE.] Now, pray, how do you like seeing your children dabbling their hands in this—this pig-pail?

[CLAUDE _enters_.

CLAUDE.

Fraser and Theo——

MRS. EMPTAGE.

[_Rising._] Ah!

CLAUDE.

Just come in.

[MRS. CLOYS _walks away_; CLAUDE _joins_ JUSTINA.]

MRS. EMPTAGE.

[_Repressing her excitement._] Sssh, sssh, sssh! Let nobody make a fuss; Alec hates a fuss!

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

No fuss, but some one ought to play “See the Conquering Hero——!” Theo is so fond of a little fun—genuine fun!

[_He seats himself at the piano and fingers out the air laboriously._ THEOPHILA _and her husband enter. She is an elegantly-dressed, still girlish, woman of seven-and-twenty; he a good-looking, undemonstrative man of about five-and-thirty. Both are pale, weary-looking, and subdued._ FRASER _is gloved and frock-coated_; THEOPHILA _is in her bonnet and cape_.

MRS. EMPTAGE.

[_Her hands twitching._] Well, pet?

THEOPHILA.

[_Kissing her mother in a spiritless way._] Well, mother dear?

[THEOPHILA _goes to_ JUSTINA _and_ CLAUDE _and kisses them, silently_.

MRS. EMPTAGE.

[_Shaking hands with_ FRASER.] A hundred thousand congratulations, Alec.

FRASER.

[_Biting his lip._] Thanks. [_Standing at the further end of the piano, to_ SIR FLETCHER.] Do you mind _not_ playing?

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

[_Rising and singing._] “See the Conquering He—ro co—o—o—o—o—o—um—ms—!” Not hero—heroes. No, hero and heroine!

[THEOPHILA _comes to him and kisses him in the same impassive fashion_.

THEOPHILA.

[_Quietly._] Much obliged to you for sticking to me, the last two days, uncle.

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

My dear, as a matter of fact, I’ve enjoyed myself in Court. I am not exaggerating—enjoyed myself.

MRS. EMPTAGE.

Theo, your aunt Harriet——

THEOPHILA.

[_Turning._] Aunt——! [_Advancing slowly to meet_ MRS. CLOYS—_a little dazed_.] I saw a figure; I—I thought it was Kitty. Why, aunt——!

[_They shake hands._

MRS. CLOYS.

[_Looking into her face, earnestly._] You’re tired—quite done.

THEOPHILA.

[_With a nod, sitting on the settee._] Alec——[FRASER _advances_.] My aunt Harriet, Mrs. Cloys—my husband.

[FRASER _and_ MRS. CLOYS _incline their heads to each other_. FRASER _then turns away and joins_ CLAUDE _and_ JUSTINA, SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD _following him_. THEOPHILA _strips off her gloves_.

MRS. EMPTAGE.

Let mother take your bonnet, pet.

THEOPHILA.

[_Her head falling backward, faintly._] Oh, do!

MRS. EMPTAGE.

[_Removing_ THEOPHILA’S _bonnet_.] In your bonnet all day again; your head must be splitting. _I_ know. Do you remember _my_ head at the flower-show at Eastbourne?

[MRS. CLOYS _bends over_ THEOPHILA _and helps her to get rid of her cape_.

THEOPHILA.

Thanks, awfully.

[_She takes her bonnet from_ MRS. EMPTAGE, _and fiercely begins to roll it in her cape, as if about to crush them together_.

MRS. EMPTAGE.

[_Uttering a little scream, running round the settee to her._] What are you doing?

[_There is a general movement._

THEOPHILA.

[_Looking round._] It’s all right. [_With an attempt at a laugh._] Those things are to be destroyed.

MRS. EMPTAGE.

[_Taking the bonnet and cape from_ THEOPHILA.] Destroyed! They were new for the case!

THEOPHILA.

Sniff them, mother.

MRS. EMPTAGE.

[_Doing so._] Perfume.

THEOPHILA.

Phew! I intend to burn every thread I’m wearing, and to have a bath before dinner.

FRASER.

[_Constrainedly._] We were rather unfortunate in the case that is to follow ours.

THEOPHILA.

Yes. [_Looking straight before her._] There was a patchouli business waiting to come on after us.

MRS. EMPTAGE.

[_Holding the things at arm’s length._] Oh, dear!

THEOPHILA.

It had been flitting about since the morning. It sat down beside me at last.

MRS. EMPTAGE.

_It?_

THEOPHILA.

It, it, it. And it was wearing a bonnet almost precisely like mine; and it looked to be about my own age, and could have had my sort of complexion if it had chosen——

MRS. CLOYS.

Hush, Theophila——!

THEOPHILA.

[_Hysterically._] Ho, ho, ho! these last two days!

[_Horton enters with tea._

MRS. EMPTAGE.

Here’s tea! Claude, help Justina with the tea-table. Tea is what Theo needs.

[_She hurries out with_ THEOPHILA’S _bonnet and cape_. CLAUDE _and_ JUSTINA _carry the tea-table and place it before the “cosy-corner.”_ MRS. CLOYS _sits with her head bent_. HORTON _places the tray upon the tea-table and withdraws_. JUSTINA _sits in the “cosy-corner” and pours out tea_.

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

[_Bustling up to the tea-table._] Tea is what we _all_ need. A most exciting day! I’ve often observed how welcome one’s tea is on a Derby Day——

THEOPHILA.

[_In a whisper to_ FRASER _across the table_.] Alec, will you tell them what the judge said of me, or shall I?

FRASER.

I suppose it’s necessary.

THEOPHILA.

People _heard_ it. Then, the papers——

FRASER.

Of course. [_Agitated._] I—I’ll tell them, if you like.

THEOPHILA.

Thank you. [_Quickly._] No, no—I’ll tell them. You couldn’t do it—how _could_ you?

MRS. EMPTAGE _returns_.

MRS. EMPTAGE.

Tea, tea! [_Sitting._] Alec, come and sit by me. [FRASER _sits at a distance_, _his lips compressed_, _his hands gripped together_.] Oh, fie! all that way off! You will persist in treating me as an ordinary mother-in-law! [FRASER _moves his chair a little nearer_.] That’s better. [_Triumphantly._] Well, Harriet, you see all my children round me—a happy family!

[CLAUDE _brings tea to_ MRS. CLOYS.

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

[_Bringing a cup of tea to_ THEOPHILA.] I make no excuse for devoting myself to Theo—on this occasion. [THEOPHILA _takes the tea and gulps it_.] You looked charming in the witness-box—piquant. [_Returning to the tea-table._] Piquant—just the word—piquant.

MRS. EMPTAGE.

Now, Alec dear, tell us. Did Mrs. Allingham’s counsel, Mr. What’s-his-name, express regret when it was all over?

FRASER.

Regret——?

[SIR FLETCHER _brings tea to_ MRS. EMPTAGE; CLAUDE _brings tea to_ FRASER, _then returns to the tea-table_.

MRS. EMPTAGE.

Regret at finding himself made the—the thingamy—the vehicle—for such a malicious attack on Theo’s character—the poor child.

FRASER.

[_With an effort._] No; no regret was expressed.

MRS. EMPTAGE.

Not by the judge either?

FRASER.

The judge!

MRS. EMPTAGE.

The judge never said he was sorry to see a nicely bred girl, so recently married too, subjected to such a—such a—such an unwarrantable ordeal? [FRASER _is silent_.] Eh—h?

THEOPHILA.

[_After a brief pause._] No, mother.

MRS. EMPTAGE.

You were wrong, then, Fletcher, you see.

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

[_Holding up his hand._] Wait, wait, please! I don’t think I am _very_ often out in my calculations. [_To_ THEOPHILA.] What sort of demonstration occurred at the close, may I venture to ask?

THEOPHILA.

Demonstration?

MRS. EMPTAGE.

Did they cheer you much, darling? That’s what your uncle means.

THEOPHILA.

_Cheer_ me, mother——?

[FRASER _rises abruptly, placing his cup, with a clatter, on the piano_.

FRASER.

I—I feel as Theophila does. I must dip my face into cold water. The atmosphere of that place stifles one even now. Do excuse me.

[_He goes out; all, except_ THEOPHILA, _look after him, surprised_.

THEOPHILA.

Mother dear—Uncle Fletcher—you seem to have a wrong impression——

MRS. EMPTAGE.

Wrong impression?

THEOPHILA.

Oh, Mrs. Allingham’s petition has been dismissed—yes. But Sir John Clarkson and Mr. Martyn, my other counsel—all my friends in fact—were a little too sanguine.

MRS. EMPTAGE.

Too sanguine?

THEOPHILA.

Oh, much too sanguine. The judge was rather rough on me.

MRS. EMPTAGE.

What on earth do you——?

THEOPHILA.

Rather down on me—severe. My behaviour—my conduct—has been careless—indiscreet, he says——

MRS. EMPTAGE.

[_Under her breath._] Indiscreet?

THEOPHILA.

Hardly characteristic of a woman who is properly watchful of her own and her husband’s reputation—honour.

JUSTINA.

[_Coming forward a few steps._] Theo!

THEOPHILA.

[_Disjointedly._] But at the same time, he said, Mrs. Allingham had scarcely succeeded in establishing conclusively to his mind ... oh!... and he thought that even the petitioner herself, on further reflection, would be desirous that I should receive the—the benefit of the doubt ... and—and something about costs....

[_She breaks off; they all remain silent for a time._

MRS. EMPTAGE.

This—this will appear in the papers! Won’t it? Won’t it? [_No one replies_; SIR FLETCHER _sinks into a chair, with a blank look_.] Can’t anybody answer me? Fletcher, will this be in the papers?

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

[_Confused._] The papers—! No strong-minded public man ever looks at the papers. When I have spoken in the House I never——

JUSTINA.

[_In a hard voice._] Why, of course, a dozen papers will have it. What a silly question to ask, ma!

MRS. EMPTAGE.

[_Advancing to_ MRS. CLOYS.] I hope you’re quite satisfied, Harriet. You came here, after these many years, on purpose to witness this——[MRS. CLOYS _rises_]—to see disgrace and ruin brought on me and my family.

MRS. CLOYS.

Muriel, how dare you say it?

MRS. EMPTAGE.

I’m only a widow! Everybody is entitled to stab at me!

MRS. CLOYS.

[_Turning away._] I’ll not listen to you!

MRS. EMPTAGE.

[_Weeping._] Oh, oh, oh! how glad our friends will be! [_Going towards the door._] Here’s a triumph for our friends!

JUSTINA.

[_Following her._] Mother——

MRS. EMPTAGE.

[_Pushing her aside._] Go away! I don’t want you near me!

JUSTINA.

Ho!

MRS. EMPTAGE.

Bristow shall attend on me. I shall lie down on my bed. I shall have my corsets taken off——

[_She disappears._

MRS. CLOYS.

[_Going towards the door._] Muriel——!

[_She goes out, following_ MRS. EMPTAGE.

JUSTINA.

[_With a grating laugh._] That’s ma all over; she always goes through this process when there’s a family crisis. [_To_ THEOPHILA.] Do you remember, Phil?

THEOPHILA.

[_Stonily._] What?

JUSTINA.

Directly the news of poor pa’s death came, ma took off her corsets.

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

[_Rising._] I shall go out; people shall see me walking boldly through the streets: Portland Place—Regent Street—[_in agitation_]—Fletcher Portwood, with his head up—his head up, they’ll say. [_He paces the room, and comes upon_ CLAUDE, _who is sitting at the writing-table, writing a telegram, his eyes bolting and a generally vacuous expression on his face_.] And you! when are you going to do something in the world besides idling, and loafing, and living upon your mother——?

CLAUDE.

[_Rising, disconcerted._] What’s that to do with it?

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

Do with it? Why, at eighteen I was earning twenty shillings a week, and maintaining myself. Now look at the position I have achieved, from sheer brain-force! [_To_ THEOPHILA.] I shall not turn my back on you, my poor little girl; don’t be frightened of that. You were always my favourite niece——

JUSTINA.

[_Laughing, a little wildly._] Ha, ha, ha, ha!

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

I beg your pardon, ’Tina; I’ve no favourites. Can I buy you anything, either of you, while I’m out? I may look in here again before I go down to the House. The finest assembly of gentlemen in the world. No patterns, or new music, wanted—eh?

THEOPHILA.

[_Feebly._] Oh, no.

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

I shall dine at the House, and then sup at the club. All London shall see me. “Look at Portwood!” everybody will say. “Then there can’t be the slightest foundation for this scandal about his niece——!”

[_He goes out._

CLAUDE.

[_Looking after him._] Transparent old egotist! How do I know whether I’m in his Will or not? And yet I stand here and allow him to lecture me! Me! Ha, compare his education with mine! And what real knowledge has he of Life, of Men and Women——? [_Showing_ JUSTINA _his telegram_.] Is that the way you spell Bernhart?

JUSTINA.

[_Reading the telegram._] No; h-a-r-_d_-t. What’s this?

CLAUDE.

[_In an undertone._] The Wartons wanted to take me to see Bernhardt to-night. Of course, I can’t go _now_. A marked man! every eye upon me! her brother! [_Going to the door, he meets_ FRASER.] ’Ullo, Fraser!

[CLAUDE _goes out_; FRASER, _who is carrying his hat and gloves, walks across the room, eyeing_ JUSTINA.

JUSTINA.

[_To_ FRASER.] Do you want to speak to Theo?

FRASER.

Oh—just for one moment——

[THEOPHILA _rises_; JUSTINA _goes to her_.

JUSTINA.

Never mind, old girl. [_With a little laugh._] Ha! I suppose this has queered my pitch for a season or two, but—[_kissing her_]—never mind—[_going to the door_]—these things will happen in the best regulated——

[_She disappears. There is a brief silence, during which_ THEOPHILA _closes the doors_.

FRASER.

Have you told your people?

THEOPHILA.

Yes.

FRASER.

How do they take it?

THEOPHILA.

All right—pretty well. Mother is lying down for a bit. She’ll be quite herself again in a few days.

FRASER.

[_Thoughtfully._] A few days—will she? [_Partly to himself._] In a few days?

THEOPHILA.

She’ll have a week at Worthing. She’s always had a week at Worthing when we’ve been in any trouble. You’ve got your hat, Alec; do you mean to dine out?

FRASER.

To-night!

THEOPHILA.

[_Weakly._] Oh, don’t be so sharp with me! All the way home from the Strand you’d hardly speak a word.

FRASER.

[_Sitting on the settee._] I was thinking over what we’d been listening to.

THEOPHILA.

Yes, the things sounded much worse in Court than they did out of it, didn’t they?

FRASER.

[_His head bowed._] Awful!

THEOPHILA.

How cruel it was of them to buoy us up by telling us the case was going right for me!

FRASER.

Many believed it. Martyn was sure the judge was on our side.

THEOPHILA.

When one comes to think of it, her counsel managed to put such a very queer complexion——

FRASER.

Awful.

THEOPHILA.

Oh, I don’t know what I felt like at some moments! I—I felt like a woman caught with bare shoulders in daylight.

FRASER.

Awful.

THEOPHILA.

[_Looking at him curiously._] Alec, you seem to be—different to me, now the trial’s over.

FRASER.

[_In a muffled voice._] Do I? I—we’re worn out.

THEOPHILA.

[_After some hesitation, going to the back of the settee._]

I say! I want to tell you—I am—truly sorry.

FRASER.

[_Raising his head._] Sorry——!

THEOPHILA.

[_With an effort._] And I humbly beg your pardon.

FRASER.

[_Rising and facing her._] For what?

THEOPHILA.

Why, for all the bother I’ve caused.

FRASER.

[_Resuming his seat._] Oh——!

[_She stares at him for a moment, surprised and disappointed, then turns away._

THEOPHILA.

[_To herself._] Oh——! [_To him._] Alec, I’ve had the idea that the trouble we’ve lately gone through, both of us, over this horrid business, might help to bring us together. We haven’t got along over-well, have we?

FRASER.

Not too well, I’m afraid.

THEOPHILA.

A good deal my fault, I dare say. Oh, I hated Locheen——!

FRASER.

Yes.

THEOPHILA.

As heartily as you hate London. I’m a town girl, a thorough little cockney—you knew it when you married me!—and—Locheen!——

FRASER.

Locheen is a beautiful place.

THEOPHILA.

London’s a beautiful place.

FRASER.

No.

THEOPHILA.

[_Hotly._] No to you, then. [_Sitting._] I beg pardon again; I didn’t mean to be rude. I understand how you feel. You were born at Locheen.

FRASER.

I was.

THEOPHILA.

[_Pointing towards the window._] I was born in Chester Terrace. I admit, Locheen is all very well at a certain time of year. But to be stuck there when London’s full; when nobody but a poor relation, whose railway ticket you send with the invitation, will come and look you up! Oh, that summer you made me spend there just after we were married!

FRASER.

I was very happy that summer.

THEOPHILA.

You were in love. And then, the pipers! those pipers!

FRASER.

Duncan and Hamish were supremely ridiculous to you, I remember.

THEOPHILA.