Part 3

Not ridiculous, as you say it—great fun for a time; but four or five months of Duncan and Hamish and their pipes! To and fro on the terrace, for a whole hour in the morning, those pipes! To and fro, up and down, all round the house, in the afternoon, those pipes! At dinner, from the trout to the banana, those pipes. And then, the notion of your persistently dining in a kilt! A Highland costume on the moors—yes; but in the lamplight—at dinner——!

FRASER.

It is my dress; I don’t vary it.

THEOPHILA.

Think of it! A man and woman dining _tête-à-tête_, for months and months; the woman hypped, weary; the novelty of her new clothes gradually wearing off; she feeling she was getting lean and plain with it all, salt-cellary about the shoulders, drawn and hideous—[_staring before her, her eyes dilating_]—and, every blessed night, the man in a magnificent evening kilt!

FRASER.

Surely that, too, was “great fun” for a time?

THEOPHILA.

It might have been, if you had the smallest sense of humour, Alec; but one soon tires of laughing alone. No, there was never any fun in that kilt. It got on my nerves from the beginning—the solemn, stupid stateliness of it. Girls are subject to creeps and crawls; I grew at last to positively dread joining you in the hall of an evening, to be frightened at giving you my arm to go into dinner—the simple sound of the rustling of my skirt against that petticoat of yours made the chairs, everything, dance. At those moments old Duncan and his boy Hamish seemed to be blowing into the blood-vessels of my head. And during dinner even the table wouldn’t help me; I was weak, hysterical—I declare to goodness I could always see through the thickness of the board—see the two knees! [_With a backward shake of the head_] Ha!

FRASER.

Well, Duncan and Hamish—poor fellows—and their pipes, and the objectionable kilt—those things need never trouble you again; at any rate, we can decide that.

THEOPHILA.

Oh, no, Alec, we will go up to Locheen in August——

FRASER.

Locheen——!

THEOPHILA.

Wait! you haven’t heard. [_She changes her position, sitting beside him; he not responsive, almost shrinking from her._] Alec—Alec dear—[_leaning her head against his shoulder_]—I intend to be good in the future, so very good.

FRASER.

What do you mean—good?

THEOPHILA.

I intend to get on well with you, wherever we may be—I _will_ get on well with you. I’ve been babyish and silly all my life; I’m seven-and-twenty; I’m an old woman; I’ve sown my wild oats now.

FRASER.

Wild oats?

THEOPHILA.

Forty-four pounds to the bushel. And so, directly we’ve fought our way—oh my, it will be a fight, too!—directly we’ve fought our way through the Season in London, we’ll be off to Locheen——

FRASER.

The Season—here——!

THEOPHILA.

Yes.

FRASER.

Theophila, there will be no Season for us in London, and no Locheen even for me, for two or three years at least. [_Rising_] We’re going abroad——

THEOPHILA.

Abroad——!

FRASER.

Directly, directly. There will be only to-morrow to settle everything, to make all arrangements. [_Pacing up and down._] The servants at Lennox Gardens will be discharged, the house let furnished—perhaps it would be better to let Marlers sell the furniture, and have done with it. [_Pausing in his walk._] I am returning to Lennox Gardens now, at once; will you come back with me, or dine with your people and let me fetch you later on? [_She sits, staring at him, without speaking._] Theo, please let me know your wishes.

THEOPHILA.

[_Quietly._] No, no—you mustn’t do this.

FRASER.

Why not?

THEOPHILA.

Why, don’t you see? We’ve _got_ to sit tight here in town; we’ve _got_ to do it, to win back my good name. [FRASER _agitatedly resumes his walk_.] Of course, we shall be asked nowhere, but we must be seen about together, you and I, wherever it’s possible for us to squeeze ourselves. [_Rapidly and excitedly._] There’s the Opera; we can subscribe for a box on the ground tier—the stalls can’t help picking you out there. And there we must sit, laughing and talking, Alec, and _convince_ people that we’re a happy couple and that you believe in me implicitly. And when the Season’s done with, _then_ Locheen; we must have Locheen crowded with the best we can lay hands on—many that wouldn’t touch me with the tongs at this moment will be glad of a cheap week or two at Locheen in the autumn. And we must let ’em all see that I’m a rattling good indoor, as well as outdoor, wife, and that you’re frightfully devoted to me, and that what _she_ charged me with—well, simply couldn’t have been. And afterwards they’ll go back to town and chatter, and in the end the thing will blow over, and—and——Oh, but to go abroad _now_! [_Going to him, and slipping her arm through his._] Alec, dear old boy, how could you dream of cutting and running _now_?

[_He withdraws his arm._]

FRASER.

Theophila, I—I am sorry to distress you—if it does distress you, but I—I’ve quite made up my mind. [_Passionately._] We are going abroad.

THEOPHILA.

I’ll not stir!

FRASER.

Would you let me go alone?

THEOPHILA.

[_Recoiling._] Oh——!

FRASER.

[_Following her._] You see, you will have to come with me.

THEOPHILA.

You’d be a brute to do it, Alec! [_Stamping her foot._] Don’t you hear me? Can’t you understand me? You’re not a fool! I tell you we’ve got to try to convince people——

FRASER.

People! People shall not see me play-acting——

THEOPHILA.

Play-acting——!

FRASER.

Yes, before I go among people, to try to convince _them_, I have to try to convince _myself_.

THEOPHILA.

What!

FRASER.

[_Sitting._] People! people!

[_There is silence; she slowly retreats from him._

THEOPHILA.

You—you think there’s some—some truth in it then? [_He makes no answer._] It’s true, you believe?

FRASER.

I want time—I want time——

THEOPHILA.

Time?

FRASER.

To shake it off.

THEOPHILA.

To shake it off?

FRASER.

It was awful in Court.

THEOPHILA.

[_Partly to herself._] Awful.

FRASER.

As you say, her counsel twisted and turned everything about so. When he cross-examined you to-day, and made you say ... and then the judge ... the benefit of the doubt ... awful....

THEOPHILA.

[_Under her breath._] I see.

FRASER.

[_Rising._] Yes—that we must go away and be, quietly, together. For the present, there’s something even more important than regaining the good opinion of others—there is _ourselves_. Will you come back to Lennox Gardens now, or shall I return for you by-and-bye?

THEOPHILA.

[_Mechanically._] By-and-bye.

FRASER.

[_Going to the door._] Nine o’clock? or ten?

THEOPHILA.

Nine or ten.

FRASER.

Which?

THEOPHILA.

It doesn’t matter. [_He goes out. For a few moments she remains quite still; then she rouses herself, and, with a blank look, wanders about, her arms moving restlessly. Suddenly she presses her hands to her brow and sinks into a chair, with a low half-cry, half-moan._] Oh! oh! [_After a short burst of crying she examines her wedding-ring, removes it from her finger, and giving a little laugh, flings it on to the settee. Then she rises, and with an air of determination goes to the writing-table._] Very well! very well!

[_She sits before the writing-table and writes rapidly. At intervals she utters an exclamation; then sings as she writes. The doors are opened, and_ HORTON _enters_.

HORTON.

[_Collecting the tea-cups._] Beg pardon, ma’am.

THEOPHILA.

[_Writing._] Mr. Fraser has gone out, hasn’t he?

HORTON.

He have, ma’am.

[HORTON _places the tea-cups on the tea-tray, lifts up the tray, and is about to carry it out_.

THEOPHILA.

Oh, Horton, what became of the bonnet and cape I came in with?

HORTON.

[_Looking off._] Mrs. Emptage lay them down in the next room. Here they are, ma’am.

THEOPHILA.

Just give them to me. [HORTON _goes off and immediately returns with the bonnet, cape, and gloves_.] Thanks.

[HORTON _arranges the cape over the back of a chair, places the bonnet and gloves on the table, and withdraws. Having finished her letter and addressed an envelope, she rises and searches for her wedding-ring; finding this she slips it into the letter, and fastens the envelope. Then, keeping the letter in her hand, she puts on her bonnet and cape, standing before the mirror._ SIR FLETCHER _enters, looking disturbed and dejected_; CLAUDE _follows, downcast, silent, and morose, and walks about aimlessly, staring at the carpet_.

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

[_Discovering_ THEOPHILA.] Oh, going out, my dear?

THEOPHILA.

I want a little walk—alone.

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

To walk it off, eh? [_Ruffling his hair._] I find I can’t walk it off; I’ve been into the Euston Road; I don’t think I can be well. Fortunately, I have a box of most remarkable pills at my chambers. They are prepared by Gilliburton of 88 Piccadilly. Don’t forget the number—eighty-eight. Two eights. That’s my system of artificial memory. Eighty-eight—two eights.

THEOPHILA.

[_Going to him, and kissing him, leaning across the settee._] Good-bye, uncle.

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

We shall meet again by-and-bye, dear. I shall dine here quietly, after all.

THEOPHILA.

[_Going to_ CLAUDE, _kissing him_.] Good-bye.

CLAUDE.

Oh, you’ll see me at dinner too.

THEOPHILA.

[_Handing him the letter._] Give that to ’Tina, will you? Claude—take care of mother.

CLAUDE.

[_Mildly surprised._] Take care of mother!

THEOPHILA.

Yes, be a good boy, and look after her. Ta, ta!

_She goes out._

CLAUDE.

Boy! _my_ boyhood is long past. [_Pinching the envelope._] There’s a coin in this—money.

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

[_Sitting on the settee, fatigued._] Eh? Don’t forget, Claude—Gilliburton. Think of Gilly, corruption of Gilbert. Gilbert, a well-known sculptor—or writer; I forget which. Burton, man I jobbed two horses from—bays—Burton. There you have Gilly and Burton—Gilliburton. My own system of mnemonics. _Memoria technica._

CLAUDE.

It’s not a coin; it’s a ring.

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

[_Irritably._] What are you talking about, my boy? You always appear to be masticating some commonplace or other.

[HORTON _appears_.

HORTON.

Beg pardon, Sir Fletcher. Mrs. Cloys wants to wish you good-day, Sir Fletcher. I wasn’t aware where you was, Sir Fletcher.

CLAUDE.

[_Giving the letter to_ HORTON.] Miss Justina.

[HORTON _withdraws_.

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

[_Rising._] I’d quite forgotten your aunt. Do, please, look unconcerned, Claude. Let her see that men can display courage and decision at such moments.

[_Humming an air, he unbuttons his coat and throws it back, sticking his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets. Some newspapers fall from the breast of his coat; he is hastily picking them up when_ MRS. CLOYS _enters_.

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

[_Meekly._] You are going, Harriet?

MRS. CLOYS.

Fletcher, you’ve been out to buy evening papers!

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

[_Putting them into his tail pockets._] The malicious utterances of the judge are not in these editions.

MRS. CLOYS.

I thought you never——!

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

It is somebody’s duty to overlook the reports of this case. I see that one vile placard announces, “Lively cross-examination of Mrs. Fraser.”

MRS. CLOYS.

Lively!

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

[_Producing a newspaper._] Here’s a rag which dares to give illustrations—“Sketches in Court.”

MRS. CLOYS.

Have you contrived to get among them?

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

[_Opening the paper._] I happen to _be_ among them. But the fool of an artist has completely missed my salient points——

JUSTINA _runs in with_ THEOPHILA’S _letter, opened, and the wedding-ring_.

JUSTINA.

Aunt! oh, I say! What do you think? Theo’s gone!

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

She’s gone out for a walk. [_To_ MRS. CLOYS.] Here it is. That’s from an old photograph; I don’t wear that sort of collar _now_.

JUSTINA.

[_Advancing between_ MRS. CLOYS _and_ SIR FLETCHER.] What are you talking about? Look here! [_Reading._] “’Tina, hand enclosed to my husband when he comes back for me to-night after dinner.” [_Showing the ring._] It’s her wedding-ring. [_Reading._] “He believes that what that creature charged me with is true, and wants to take me away and hide me. All is up with me. Oh, those pipers at Locheen are playing into my brain again. Good-bye all.—THEO. P.S.—Jack Allingham would not treat a woman so like dirt.”

MRS. CLOYS.

[_Agitatedly._] I can’t hear you. [_Taking the letter from_ JUSTINA.] Let me see it.

JUSTINA.

What shall we do? We must do something. Uncle!

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

[_Confused._] We must certainly do something, at once. Er—it _is_ her wedding-ring, I suppose?

JUSTINA.

[_Impatiently._] Oh——! Aunt!

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

[_Encountering_ CLAUDE.] Don’t stand there, Claude, looking precisely like an owl!

MRS. CLOYS.

[_Returning the letter to_ JUSTINA.] Jump into a cab; you must take that to Mr. Fraser.

JUSTINA.

[_Hurrying to the door._] All right. [_Pausing._] What shall I do if I don’t find him at home?

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

If, if, if! Why throw obstacles?

JUSTINA.

I’m not throwing them. I merely say, what if he’s out, or hasn’t gone back to Lennox Gardens at all?

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

This is a moment for action!

CLAUDE.

[_Sitting at the writing-table._] Ha, ha! what a hideous mockery the whole world is! Life——!

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

Let us have none of your sickening optimism, sir! and in the presence of your aunt and sister.

MRS. CLOYS.

[_Holding out her hand for the letter._] Show it to me again. [JUSTINA _brings the letter to_ MRS. CLOYS, _who begins reading_.] “Hand enclosed to my husband when he comes back for me to-night after dinner.”

JUSTINA.

Ten or eleven o’clock. Where, on earth, will she be by ten or eleven o’clock?

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

[_Going to the door._] I’ll tell her mother——!

JUSTINA.

[_Intercepting him._] For goodness’ sake, not yet. Mother’s no use.

MRS. CLOYS.

[_Reading._] “P.S.—Jack Allingham would not treat a woman so like dirt.” Jack Allingham——[_Suddenly_] Justina! [JUSTINA _again comes to her_.] There’s only one very great danger.

JUSTINA.

Why, you don’t think Theo would—take poison—or——!

MRS. CLOYS.

No, I mean a worse danger than that. [_Pointing to a sentence in the letter._] That one.

JUSTINA.

[_Reading._] “Jack Allingham would not treat a woman——” [_Staring at_ MRS. CLOYS.] Oh——!

MRS. CLOYS.

This Mr. Allingham? Exceedingly kind and gentle to women—is that the class of man he belongs to?

JUSTINA.

Y—yes.

MRS. CLOYS.

Suppose—suppose this wretched girl lets her mind dwell too much just now on Mr. Allingham’s—kindness!

JUSTINA.

Aunt!

MRS. CLOYS.

[_Again returning the letter to_ JUSTINA—_with decision_.] Where does he live? Where is he likely to be found?

JUSTINA.

It’s in the Red Book. [_Pointing to the writing-table._] Claude——!

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

Bring me the Red Book! [CLAUDE _finds the Red Book; he and_ SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD _search for the address_.] Allingham—A—A—A—[_finding the letter_] A!

CLAUDE.

You’re looking at “Ashley Gardens”——

[MRS. CLOYS _and_ JUSTINA _join_ SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD _and_ CLAUDE _impatiently_.

JUSTINA.

I know it’s there. He went into lodgings when he parted from her. And he has a little cottage in Surrey——

CLAUDE.

[_Finding the name._] “Allingham——!”

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

[_Taking the book from him._] “Allingham, John Crawshaw, Esq., 11 Bentham Street, W., and Turf and Garrick Clubs.—The Lichens, Epsom, Surrey.”

[MRS. CLOYS _takes the book from_ SIR FLETCHER. _She tears out the page and throws the book upon the settee._

MRS. CLOYS.

[_Folding the extracted page, and slipping it into her glove._] Fletcher, Claude, you had better come with me. I may want you both. Claude, whistle a four-wheeled cab. You hear me!

[CLAUDE _goes out_.

SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD.

But, Harriet, do you seriously, soberly, entertain the notion?

MRS. CLOYS.

Get your hat! [SIR FLETCHER _goes out_. MRS. CLOYS _turns to_ JUSTINA.] Telegraph to the Bishop of St. Olpherts, The Palace, St. Olpherts: “Detained here to-night. Return, D.V., forenoon to-morrow. Get to bed early. Affectionate messages.—H.”

[_The sound of a cab-whistle, twice or thrice repeated, is heard._

JUSTINA.

“Detained here to-night. Return forenoon to-morrow——”

MRS. CLOYS.

“D.V.”

JUSTINA.

“D.V. Go to bed early——”

MRS. CLOYS.

Say, “Be in bed by eleven.”

JUSTINA.

Yes. “Love——”

MRS. CLOYS.

No, no—“Affectionate messages.”

JUSTINA.

“Affectionate messages.—H.”

MRS. CLOYS.

Thank you.

JUSTINA.

Aunt! When I see Alec Fraser, am I to say anything—about what you are doing?

MRS. CLOYS.

For mercy’s sake, don’t put any idea into his head that isn’t there already! Not a word to a soul——

[CLAUDE _appears in the doorway, hat in hand_.

CLAUDE.

Cab, aunt.

MRS. CLOYS.

I’m coming. [CLAUDE _withdraws_.] Not a word, except that we’ve gone out, blindly, to try and find her.

JUSTINA.

Wait! you must tell me; do you suspect that Theophila is—guilty?

MRS. CLOYS.

[_Looking at her steadily._] Woman, what do _you_ suspect?

JUSTINA.

[_Falteringly._] Then I can’t understand you.

MRS. CLOYS.

Why not, pray?

JUSTINA.

I’ve always taken you for one of those who pick up their skirts and stalk away as far as possible from this kind of thing.

MRS. CLOYS.

Ah, you don’t—[_moved_]—oh, my dear!

JUSTINA.

What?

MRS. CLOYS.

You don’t know what was really at the bottom of all my quarrels with your mother. I’ve no children. I’d have given the world if Theo had been mine.

JUSTINA.

[_A little bitterly._] Theo! Theo!

MRS. CLOYS.

[_Taking her by the shoulder, almost shaking her._] You, too! [_Kissing her._] Bless you, you’d have been better than nothing!

[_She goes out._ JUSTINA _stands, her lips parted, staring into space_.

END OF THE FIRST ACT.

THE SECOND ACT

_The Scene represents a room in_ MR. ALLINGHAM’S _cottage at Epsom. On the left-hand side is a fireplace, with a fire burning; above this is a door giving on to the hall; while below it is a similar door, over which hangs a_ portière, _drawn aside, admitting to the dining-room. Facing us is a large open French window; and beyond is a view of a pretty garden with trees, laurels, etc. On the right, also facing us, but nearer, are a few balustered steps leading to an arched opening which is about three feet from the ground. The opening, across which runs a rod supporting a_ portière, _admits to a small room, which, although containing no books that are visible, is called the library. All the furniture and accessories are characteristic of a well-to-do bachelor’s residence. It is twilight._

DENZIL SHAFTO _and_ PETER ELPHICK, _two well-groomed, smart-looking men of about five-and-thirty, dressed for dinner, are shown in by_ QUAIFE, _a manservant_. QUAIFE _is carrying a banjo in a case_.

SHAFTO.

What time did Mr. Allingham get down?

QUAIFE.

[_Placing the banjo on the table._] Half an hour ago, sir; I’m now dressing him. [_To_ ELPHICK.] Glad you brought the banjo, Mr. Elphick.

ELPHICK.

[_A heavy-looking man with staring eyes, taking the banjo from its case with great care._] Nearly made me lose the train, Quaife, puzzlin’ whether to bring it or not.

QUAIFE.

[_Laying the case aside._] Do Mr. Allingham a load of good, sir—a little melody after dinner.

SHAFTO.

Mr. Allingham rather fatigued?

QUAIFE.

Never saw him so played out, sir. [_Closing the windows._] Oh, Mr. Allingham’s compliments, Mr. Shafto, and he says he forgot to inquire whether you and Mr. Elphick would sleep at The Lichens to-night.

SHAFTO.

Not to-night, thanks. I’ve arranged to take Mr. Elphick on to my father’s place at Leatherhead.

ELPHICK.

We shan’t keep you up here till the last train, Quaife, or anything like. Dessay Mr. Allingham’ll be glad to turn in early.

QUAIFE.

Not much good _him_ turning in, Mr. Elphick.

SHAFTO.

Queer nights lately, of sorts?

QUAIFE.

Shockin’, Mr. Shafto.

[QUAIFE _goes out_.

SHAFTO.

[_Looking round._] Here we are again, Peter.

ELPHICK.

’Pears so.

SHAFTO.

[_Wandering about._] This is my first visit to this box since Jack came back here after his split with his wife.

ELPHICK.

And mine; thought he’d sold it.

SHAFTO.

He merely let it, when he married—let it to a stockbroker. Peter, Jack must have had some sort of a premonition——

ELPHICK.

Some sort of what?

SHAFTO.

Premonition——

ELPHICK.

Stoopid ass of a word.

SHAFTO.

Some sort of a premonition of his speedy return to single life. [_Looking out of the window._] Same spotless white gate, I rejoice to see; same elms; same laurels—[_Ascending the steps._] The library——! [_Entering the room._] My heart sinks within me. [_From within._] No, by Jove! Peter! Peter!

[ELPHICK _goes and looks into the room through the balustrade_.

ELPHICK.

What’s wrong?

SHAFTO.

[_From within._] Nothing. I breathe again. All the essential features of Jack’s library are undisturbed. [_Coming down the steps._] A luxurious sofa, Ruff’s Turf Guide, and the Stud Book.

ELPHICK.

[_Drearily._] Blessed if there’s anything to make fun of in that.

SHAFTO.

[_At a table, examining bottles._] Delightful! Same soda water, same——

ELPHICK.

[_Sitting, nursing his banjo_.] No, hang it!

SHAFTO.

[_Pouring out a glass of Vermouth._] Vermouth. Peter, I was totting up things this morning, gently and quietly, in my bath.

ELPHICK.

[_Blowing a speck of dust from his banjo._] Not really?

SHAFTO.

[_Seriously._] Yes. You weren’t at Jack’s weddin’?

ELPHICK.

No, I was up at Mahabaleshwar that spring with Sandington. You stood best man, didn’t you?

SHAFTO.

I did. And look here—Jack Allingham is the seventh I’ve been best man to in nine years.

ELPHICK.

[_Abstractedly._] Good figgers.

SHAFTO.

[_Frowning._] And they’ve all managed to get into the Divorce Court since, one way or another. [_After a pause._] How’s that?

ELPHICK.

Good figgers.

JOHN ALLINGHAM _enters, a simple, boyish man, of about thirty, looking pale and worn. He is dressed for dinner._

JOHN.

[_Shaking hands with_ SHAFTO.] Halloa, Denzil! [_To_ ELPHICK, _shaking hands with him_.] Well, Peter! It’s awfully good of you fellows proposing to see me through this evening.

ELPHICK.

Not in the least.

SHAFTO.

Speak for yourself, Peter.

JOHN.

I couldn’t have endured my own company to-night, I can tell you. Sorry you can’t sleep here, though.

SHAFTO.

My governor hasn’t seen Peter since he’s been home this leave. It’s an old promise——

JOHN.

I understand. [_Taking the banjo from_ ELPHICK.] And you’ve actually brought the banjo.

ELPHICK.

Well, when a man’s a bit low, sometimes a little music——

JOHN.

Thanks. [_To both of them._] Warm, yesterday and to-day, in that Law Court, wasn’t it?

ELPHICK.

Agra in June.

JOHN.

Warm in every sense of the word, eh?

SHAFTO.

Hell.

JOHN.

[_With his hand to his brow._] Gurrrh!

SHAFTO.

[_Sharply._] Now, then?

ELPHICK.

It’s done with now.

JOHN.

[_Recovering himself._] True; that cursed nightmare of an approaching trial isn’t waiting for me upstairs, in that bedroom of mine, any longer. And to-morrow morning I shall wake with a start to find—what’ll the feeling be like!—that I’ve no lawyers to interview. Besides, I haven’t much to complain of. You two fellows have kept close at my elbow throughout the whole business—hardly ever left me. Well, that’s friendship—[_shaking hands abruptly, first with_ ELPHICK, _then with_ SHAFTO]—God bless yer!

[_He walks away and sits on the settee, looking into the fire._ ELPHICK _and_ SHAFTO _stand together, eyeing him uneasily_.

SHAFTO.

[_In a whisper, to_ ELPHICK.] Peter, our bags are here. What d’ye say to not leaving him to-night, after all?

ELPHICK.