Part 4

[_In a whisper._] Yes, I don’t suppose your guv’nor wants to see me so desperate bad as all that comes to.

SHAFTO.

No, I don’t suppose he does—I mean, we can go over in the morning.

JOHN.

[_Looking up._] Eh?

SHAFTO.

Nothing.

JOHN.

[_Passing his fingers over the strings of the banjo._] You don’t remember, Denzil—nor you, Peter, I suppose; _she_ used to thrum on this thing—well, hardly this thing—the guitar—much the same. Oh, yes, she used to play it very nicely.

SHAFTO.

[_Puzzled._] Who? Mrs. Fraser?

JOHN.

Mrs. Fraser! No! [_Handling the banjo roughly._] My wife.

ELPHICK.

[_Hurrying across to John, taking the banjo from him._] Excuse me, old feller.

JOHN.

[_Starting up._] I was close to her to-day; we stared each other right in the eyes. We didn’t mean to—we simply did it. We met in the corridor during lunch-time; I was getting out of the way of old Portwood; I turned sharply—and there we were, my wife and I, face to face. It might have been for ten seconds—it was like an hour.

ELPHICK.

Did she look angry?

JOHN.

No. Downright ill and distressed. [_To both of them._] You’ve seen her in Court?

SHAFTO.

Yes.

ELPHICK.

Yes.

JOHN.

Yesterday?

SHAFTO.

We said “How d’ye do” to her yesterday.

ELPHICK.

We told you.

JOHN.

Oh, yes, To-day?

SHAFTO.

Not to speak to.

ELPHICK.

She nodded to us this morning from the—what do they call it?—not the sink——

SHAFTO.

Well.

ELPHICK.

Well of the Court.

JOHN.

Denzil.

SHAFTO.

’Ullo?

JOHN.

She was very pretty when I married her, wasn’t she?

SHAFTO.

Undoubtedly.

[JOHN _sits, leaning his head upon his hands_. SHAFTO _walks away, quietly, to the window_. ELPHICK _sits on the settee, and, turning his face to the fire, strikes up a tune on his banjo_.

JOHN.

That’s right! tune up, Peter! If I had a savage breast this evening you might soothe it with your Tinka-tinka-tinka-tinka-tink, as Kipling says. But I haven’t—isn’t that odd? Boys, do you know, all the bitterness I’ve been feeling towards her seems to have died out of me; and she’s been dragging me pretty thoroughly through the mud lately. Isn’t that odd?

SHAFTO.

[_Leaving the window, and coming to the back of settee._] Well, she’s lost the day, you see.

ELPHICK.

[_Ceasing playing._] She’s beaten; got nothin’ for her pains.

JOHN.

I suppose that’s it. Ah, but her face! I hadn’t seen it for months. And the silence between us was so strange.

SHAFTO.

Yes, there wasn’t much of _that_, old chap, between you two when you were together.

JOHN.

No; _didn’t_ we quarrel! And yet, this morning, during our little deadly-silent encounter, she seemed to say more to me than she’d ever said in her life before. By Jove, she _has_ suffered—[_starting up_]—oh, damn it!

[_He paces to and fro_; ELPHICK _hurriedly resumes his playing_.

SHAFTO.

[_Seating himself on the back of the settee, speaking with a drawl._] Ah, I shouldn’t worry myself too much, if I were you, about that. Other people have suffered.

JOHN.

[_Pausing in his walk._] Mrs. Fraser——?

SHAFTO.

[_Indifferently._] Oh, she amongst ’em.

JOHN.

[_In a low voice._] Poor little Theo Fraser! I’m forgetting her.

SHAFTO.

Forget all round, my dear Jack—that’s the ticket; for the future, cultivate a single-minded devotion to yourself——

JOHN.

And the horses! You’re right, Denzil. By the bye, I had a line from O’Halligan yesterday—where is it? [_Going to a writing-table and rummaging among the litter there._] He fancies Kildaowen very strongly. The mare’s feeding well; that’s always been their difficulty, you know——

SHAFTO.

[_Quietly, looking towards the window._] Jack.

JOHN.

Eh?

SHAFTO.

Who’s that woman out there?

[ELPHICK _ceases playing_.

JOHN.

Where?

SHAFTO.

In your garden.

[JOHN _looks towards the window_; ELPHICK _rises and makes one of the group_.

JOHN.

[_After a pause._] I don’t see anybody.

SHAFTO.

She’s behind the laurels now.

JOHN.

[_About to go to the window._] One of the maids——

SHAFTO.

[_Laying his hand on_ JOHN’S _arm_.] Wait a bit. [_Goes cautiously to the window, peeps out, and comes away._] I say, old chap.

JOHN.

What’s the matter?

SHAFTO.

I thought so. It’s your wife. [_There is a moment’s pause, then an excited movement from_ JOHN.] Stop! [_A pause._] What are you going to do?

JOHN.

[_Dazed._] Do!... do!...

SHAFTO.

Not anything stoopid, Jack?

JOHN.

[_Excitedly._] Clear out for a minute, you two fellows.

[SHAFTO _goes up the steps and into the library, drawing the_ portière _across the door as he disappears_.

JOHN.

Get out, Peter!

ELPHICK.

[_Going up the steps and pausing at the door._] Jack.

JOHN.

What is it?

ELPHICK.

[_With an empty expression of face and voice._] Don’t do anything weak.

JOHN.

Get out! [ELPHICK _disappears_. JOHN _hurriedly glances round the room and arranges a displaced chair. Then he discovers that_ ELPHICK _has left the banjo upon the settee, and he seizes it impatiently_.] Oh—— [_Going to the door of the library and drawing aside the_ portière.] Here! Peter! catch! [_He throws the banjo into the room, and readjusts the_ portière. _The instrument is heard to fall with a crash to the floor. He looks into the library, hastily._] I beg your pardon, old fellow. [_He descends the steps and goes to the window and opens it, speaking in a low voice._] Is any one there? [_A pause._] Someone’s there.

OLIVE.

[_From a little distance._] Yes.

JOHN.

Who is it?

OLIVE.

Olive.

JOHN.

[_Sternly._] Well?

OLIVE.

Are you by yourself?

JOHN.

Yes. [_After a pause._] Come in.

_He draws back to allow her to pass him. After a short delay she enters, and, without looking at him, comes right into the room. He closes the window, but remains at that end of the room._ OLIVE ALLINGHAM _is a fashionably and richly dressed woman of a little over thirty years of age—pale, worn red-eyed, but still handsome. In manner she is alternately beseeching and gentle, angry and imperious. The twilight now gradually deepens into dusk._

OLIVE.

You have some men here?

JOHN.

Shafto and Peter Elphick. I asked them to clear out for a moment.

OLIVE.

What will they think?

JOHN.

[_With a shrug of the shoulder._] They can scarcely know what to think.

OLIVE.

[_Walking to the mantelpiece._] What do you think yourself, of my humbling myself in this fashion? [_Turning to him._] What do you——? [_As she has crossed to the left of the room, he, still at a distance, has moved over to the right. Speaking with a catch in her breath._] Oh, don’t do that! I’m not poisonous, John. [_He approaches stiffly and silently. She advances towards him plaintively._] John, I am quite worn out—[_putting her hand to her bosom_]—burnt out here. This desperate lawsuit has been my last bolt. I’m finished—spent. I know my regrets won’t avail us much at this time of day; the future has a most melancholy look-out for both of us; but I want to tell you I am truly conscious, at last, of the evil my jealousy has wrought. [_Sitting weakly._] Yes, John, I—I am quite reasonable at last.

[QUAIFE _enters_.

QUAIFE.

Dinner is s——

[_He breaks off, staring at_ OLIVE.

OLIVE.

Good evening, Quaife.

QUAIFE.

[_Aghast._] Good evening, ma’am.

JOHN.

[_To_ QUAIFE.] Tell Mrs. Quaife to delay dinner for—for——

OLIVE.

[_Rising and turning away—in an altered tone._] Oh, five minutes—ten at the outside.

JOHN.

For a quarter of an hour. [_Sharply._] The lamps.

[QUAIFE _withdraws, as if in a dream_.

OLIVE.

[_Bitterly._] I much regret keeping you and your friends from your dinner. It’s an exceptionably elaborate entertainment to-night, I suppose?

JOHN.

No, no; it’s of no consequence——

OLIVE.

Dinner! dinner! if every woman in the world was weeping her heart out, men would be found dining—feeding—feasting! What was I saying when Quaife blundered in? Where was I?

JOHN.

[_Looking at her steadily._] Quite reasonable at last.

OLIVE.

[_After a brief pause, speaking gently again._] Oh, John——! [_Advancing a few steps._] It was inconsiderate of me to break out in that way. But I don’t mean half the brutal things I say; I never did.

JOHN.

You couldn’t have done so.

OLIVE.

Any jealous woman will tell you what a slave she is to her paroxysms. Oh, they are dreadful, while they last! [_Agitatedly._] The flame behind one’s eyes, the buzzing in the ears, the dry tongue, the thumping of the heart——! [_Calming herself, breathlessly._] Thank God, I’m cured!

JOHN.

You’ve said something like this to me on other occasions.

OLIVE.

Never, under such extraordinary circumstances. [_Going to him._] The fact that I can drag myself to you, in this spirit, after my defeat, for the sake of a few words with you, must show you what an altered woman I am. [_Sitting._] John, I felt I couldn’t go back to that lonely flat of mine to-night without first proving to you how thorough my remorse is. [_Looking round._] That dismal flat! [_In an altered tone._] You appear to be extremely comfortable here.

JOHN.

Oh, it’s a little place—very cramped——

OLIVE.

This is where you gave me and papa tea once, when we were engaged to be married.

JOHN.

I remember.

OLIVE.

And now——[_Excitedly._] Ha, I suppose I’m a fool not to indulge myself just as luxuriously, just as——! [_She meets his eye and breaks off shamefacedly. Faltering, with her hand to her brow._] Where was I—again?

JOHN.

You were engaged in demonstrating how thorough your remorse is.

OLIVE.

Oh, yes. [_Weakly._] After the case ended this afternoon I walked about the streets quite light-headed, till I summoned up resolution to try to find you. [_With an effort._] John, that—that lady——

JOHN.

What lady?

OLIVE.

[_Agitatedly._] Mrs. Fraser of Locheen.

JOHN.

Yes?

OLIVE.

[_Repressing her agitation._] Of course, the judge fully justified my action by the very severe way he spoke of her.

JOHN.

His remarks were infamous! I could have taken him by the throat and thrown him into the body of the Court. No right-thinking person would have blamed me for doing so.

OLIVE.

However, he gave her the benefit of the doubt——

JOHN.

[_Scornfully._] The benefit of the doubt!

OLIVE.

And paid me the compliment of believing that I would, as one woman to another, prefer such a course being adopted.

JOHN.

[_Pacing to and fro._] Poor, wretched little Mrs. Fraser!

OLIVE.

Wait! Even _I_ see the injustice of it.

JOHN.

[_Eagerly._] You do?

OLIVE.

Haven’t I told you I am reasonable at last? For whether she be innocent or guilty is no longer the question.

JOHN.

I’m glad that is no longer the question!

OLIVE.

The point is, this woman is entitled to the benefit of the doubt. [_Rising and walking to and fro._] But how can she ever receive the benefit of the doubt if those words, which imply the doubt, are always to hang over her?

JOHN.

That’s it!

OLIVE.

And they will hang over her—for ever.

JOHN.

For ever.

OLIVE.

For ever. [_Turning to him._] Unless I cancel them—remove them.

JOHN.

You!

OLIVE.

I could, John—by my attitude towards her in public—in society.

JOHN.

[_Staring at her._] Why, certainly you could.

OLIVE.

[_Leaning over a chair, and speaking almost into his ear._] Would you like me to?

JOHN.

Like you to!

OLIVE.

I want to atone to you, if I can, in some measure, for the suffering I’ve caused you. Would you like me to right Mrs. Fraser?

JOHN.

Oh, Olive!——

OLIVE.

John!

JOHN.

[_With emotion._] If you were always so generous—so good!

OLIVE.

[_Drawing back, suddenly._] Ah!

JOHN.

[_After a brief pause._] I’ve offended you by saying that.

OLIVE.

[_In a hard voice._] You are evidently very keen concerning her.

JOHN.

[_Blankly._] Keen!

OLIVE.

She’s a vulgar, common little thing, I’m afraid.

JOHN.

That’s not true.

OLIVE.

Her people are common—excessively bad tone.

JOHN.

Her people are now her husband’s people. She is married to a gentleman.

OLIVE.

Mr. Fraser has been away from her as much as possible—[_her eyes flashing_]—_you_ know that better than anybody.

JOHN.

[_Indignantly._] Why do you come here—after all our struggles and failures, after the injury you’ve endeavoured to do me! Why do you torture me, and insult me, by trying to repeat the old heart-breaking scenes?

[_He throws himself into a chair, distractedly. There is a pause; then she slowly goes to a chair, drags it towards him, and sits beside him._

OLIVE.

[_Panting._] Torture _you_? Oh! oh, I suffer too! [_Rocking herself to and fro._] Well, there can be no punishment for jealous women in another world; we are damned in this.

JOHN.

[_In a muffled voice, with his head on his hands._] And the fire has burnt out in you, you tell me!

OLIVE.

I suppose the cinders still retain a little heat, dear.

JOHN.

[_Brokenly._] Dear!... dear!...

OLIVE.

Yes. I know my actions are contradictory, but—[_her hand stealing towards his_]—in my heart, John—always—in my heart—— [_The banjo suddenly strikes up an air._ JOHN _and_ OLIVE _raise their heads and stare at each other; then_ OLIVE _slowly backs her chair to its original position. Speaking in a whisper._] What’s that?

JOHN.

Peter.

OLIVE.

Peter——!

JOHN.

He brought his banjo with him.

OLIVE.

[_Aghast._] Why——!... Oh!

JOHN.

[_Blankly._] Eh?

OLIVE.

If _we_ hear the banjo with such distinctness——

[_They rise. He hurriedly ascends the steps and disappears through the_ portière. _The music of the banjo stops abruptly, and the sound of voices comes from the library._ QUAIFE _enters, carrying a lamp which he deposits on the table; then, always watching_ OLIVE, _he lights the standard-lamp and draws the window-curtains_.

SHAFTO.

My dear fellow——!

ELPHICK.

My dear Jack——!

JOHN.

Sssh!

SHAFTO.

You might have remembered——

JOHN.

Sssh! sssh! [_The voices in the library are hushed._

OLIVE.

[_Commanding herself, and crossing to the fireplace._] And how are you, Quaife?

QUAIFE.

Very well indeed, I thank you, ma’am.

OLIVE.

And your wife?

QUAIFE.

Exceedingly healthy, ma’am, for a stout person.

OLIVE.

I hope you look after Mr. Allingham thoroughly, all of you.

QUAIFE.

[_Dropping his voice, impressively._] We regard him as a trust, ma’am, if I may make use of the expression.

OLIVE.

[_Sharply._] A what?

QUAIFE.

A solemn trust, ma’am.

OLIVE.

[_Turning away._] Stuff and nonsense!

QUAIFE.

I beg pardon, ma’am, if I have gone too far.

[JOHN _returns_.

JOHN.

[_Coming down the steps, a little flustered._] Quaife.

QUAIFE.

Sir?

JOHN.

Er—Mr. Shafto and Mr. Elphick don’t dine.

QUAIFE.

Not dine, sir!

JOHN.

They have to go on to Leatherhead at once. Is the boy ready to carry their bags to the station?

QUAIFE.

The boy can be worried till he’s ready, sir.

JOHN.

All right.

[QUAIFE _withdraws_. JOHN _and_ OLIVE _now speak in whispers_.

OLIVE.

I don’t wish this.

JOHN.

They offered to go; they’d rather go.

OLIVE.

Have they heard much?

JOHN.

Er—next to nothing; a syllable or two when we were sitting there. That’s why Peter struck up a tune. [_Laughing a little wildly._] Ha, ha, ha!

OLIVE.

[_In the same way._] Ha, ha, ha! [_Glancing towards the door._] Shall I slip into the dining-room while they pass out?

JOHN.

Please don’t. They’re old friends of both of us; they understand perfectly——

OLIVE.

[_Returning to the fireplace._] I’ll face it out, if you wish it.

JOHN.

[_Calling._] Denzil—Peter——

[SHAFTO _and_ ELPHICK _sedately emerge from the library, and descend the steps_. SHAFTO _bows to_ OLIVE.

OLIVE.

[_Advancing, shaking hands with him across the table, graciously._] Oh, Mr. Shafto, I am so sorry to upset everybody in this way——

SHAFTO.

Not at all. I—ah—we—er—my father—at Leatherhead——

[ELPHICK, _encumbered with his banjo and the banjo-case, joins_ SHAFTO. JOHN _goes to the door_.

OLIVE.

[_Shaking hands with_ ELPHICK _across the table_.] Why should you lose your dinner? I have really finished all my—my business with my—with—Mr. Allingham.

ELPHICK.

[_With an effort, earnestly._] No, you haven’t, Mrs. Allingham. Take it up, when we’ve gone, where you broke off. [_Wringing her hand._] Do everything you’ve offered to do; try and square things——

[JOHN _comes to him and draws him away towards the door_.

JOHN.

[_To_ OLIVE.] Excuse me; one moment——

[_The three men go out, leaving_ OLIVE _staring before her_. JOHN, SHAFTO, _and_ ELPHICK _are heard talking together in the hall_.

JOHN.

[_Outside._] My dear Denzil! my dear Peter——!

SHAFTO.

[_Outside._] My good fellow, we are not, at present, in the least hungry.

[OLIVE _runs up the steps and disappears in the library_.

JOHN.

[_Outside._] No conveyance of any kind to get you to the station——!

ELPHICK.

[_Outside._] Much prefer walking, I assure you.

SHAFTO.

[_Outside._] Good-bye.

ELPHICK.

[_Outside._] Enjoyed seeing the cottage again enormously.

[_The sound of the voices dies away_; _a clock in the library strikes nine_; JOHN _returns_.

JOHN.

[_Looking round._] Olive—Olive——

[_She reappears._

OLIVE.

You didn’t tell me the truth. You can hear the slightest sound in there.

JOHN.

I beg your pardon. Those men went clean out of my head. I was an ass.

OLIVE.

[_Descending the steps._] And that idiot offers me his advice! Take it up where you broke off!

JOHN.

At least, it’s good advice.

OLIVE.

Where _did_ we break off?

JOHN.

At Mrs. Fraser——

OLIVE.

[_Walking up the stage, beating her hands together._] Mrs. Fraser! the eternal Mrs. Fraser! Oh!... oh!... [_Throwing herself into the chair facing the window._] I shall be quite calm in a moment. [_Faintly._] Those men upset me.

JOHN.

[_Going to her, solicitously._] To-day has been as exhausting for you as for the rest of us. Of course, there’s a dinner prepared here——

OLIVE.

[_Quickly, half-frightened._] Oh, no, dear; I couldn’t sit down to table with you; I’m not entitled to do that. Fetch me a glass of wine and a biscuit—[_appealingly_]—don’t let a servant bring it, John. [_He goes to the dining-room door, she rises, and calls him._] John!—[_her head drooping_]—do you think we shall ever sit at the same table again, you and I?

JOHN.

[_After a pause, sitting, looking away from her._] Oh, Olive, Olive! remember——!

OLIVE.

[_Fidgeting with the cigarette-box._] Not for many years, of course—three or four years, at least. Time makes the oddest things possible.

JOHN.

[_Thoughtfully._] I suppose so.

OLIVE.

It would appear supremely ridiculous to the world, you’re afraid?

JOHN.

Pish! the world don’t matter a damn.

OLIVE.

[_Softly._] Ah, that’s delicious!

JOHN.

What is——?

OLIVE.

I haven’t heard a man swear since I turned you out of Pont Street. [_Dreamily, almost inaudibly, as she plays with a cigarette._] Damn! [_He looks round at her; she is lost in thought; suddenly she crushes the cigarette, and flings it from her fiercely._] Ah! Theo Fraser smokes!

JOHN.

[_Starting up in a rage._] Hah! hah!

[_He goes out of the room._

OLIVE.

[_Following him a few steps, penitently._] Oh, John!—— [_There is a knock at the upper door._] Yes?

[QUAIFE _enters, with some cards on a salver_.]

QUAIFE.

[_Looking round._] I beg pardon, ma’am; a lady and two gentlemen would like to see Mr. Allingham, if it’s not disturbing him.

[_She goes to the table and examines the cards._

OLIVE.

[_In a hard voice._] Are these people friends of Mr. Allingham’s? Have they ever called on him before?

QUAIFE.

No, ma’am. [_Hesitatingly._] I fancy the eldest of the two gentlemen came once, if not twice, to Pont Street in—in—in your time, ma’am.

OLIVE.

I’ll give those to Mr. Allingham. [_He lays the cards out on the table._] You’ll be rung for. [_He goes towards the door._] You haven’t mentioned that I am here?

QUAIFE.

Oh, no, ma’am. I simply said Mr. Allingham was engaged for the moment.

OLIVE.

Quite right; thank you.

[_He withdraws. She eagerly scrutinises the cards, re-arranges them upon the table, then goes to the fireplace and stands waiting impatiently._ JOHN _re-enters, carrying a decanter of champagne and some biscuits in a silver dish, which he places on a side-table_.

JOHN.

This is the Moet we had just begun to drink when we—— You rather liked it, I fancy.

OLIVE.

Some people have called; they’re waiting to see you.

JOHN.

[_Turning._] People—so late?

OLIVE.

[_Pointing to the table._] These are their cards.

JOHN.

[_Picking up the cards._] “Mrs. Cloys,” “Mr. Claude Aylmer Emptage,” “Sir Fletcher Portwood.” Mrs. Cloys—that’s an aunt.

OLIVE.

[_Stonily._] An aunt——?

JOHN.

An aunt of Mrs. Fraser’s. What can they want with me?

OLIVE.

Isn’t it curious!

JOHN.

I assure you I haven’t the slightest idea. I suppose nothing has happened to her!

OLIVE.

To Mrs. Fraser?

JOHN.

Yes.

OLIVE.

Oh, no, nothing ever happens to these women with fair hair and heavy eyelids.

JOHN.

[_Biting his lip._] Really?

OLIVE.

You will see them, I suppose?

JOHN.

I can’t refuse to see them.

OLIVE.

May I—may I wait till they have gone?

JOHN.

Oh, Olive——! [_She walks to the dining-room, he following her._] I won’t let them detain me very long.

OLIVE.

[_Rapidly, agitatedly, facing him, her hand on the door-handle._] This is a most extraordinary visitation. These three people—her relatives—to come down on you like this, at such an hour!

JOHN.

I am sure you will find that their visit admits of a perfectly reasonable explanation.

OLIVE.

I’ve no doubt!

JOHN.

You shall have the fullest account of what passes between us.

OLIVE.

How shall I know it is a full account?

JOHN.

[_Leaving her._] Oh——!

OLIVE.

[_Advancing quickly._] No, I don’t mean that! [_Her hand to her heart._] Oh, do make some allowance for me, for my state of mind!

JOHN.

[_Turning abruptly._] Have you the courage to meet these people with me? If so, you can begin to-night to carry out your promise to serve Mrs. Fraser; you can tell her relatives now what your intentions are towards her.

OLIVE.

[_Falteringly._] Certainly, I have the courage to meet them. [_Advancing, tremblingly, breathlessly._] But do you know where you are drifting, John?

JOHN.

Where I am drifting——?

OLIVE.

Yes. I mean—what position are you willing to give me before these people?

JOHN.

Position——?

OLIVE.

I couldn’t submit to be treated as a culprit; and there is only one other possible position for me.

JOHN.

What is that?

OLIVE.

The—the—the wife.

JOHN.

[_Slowly._] The wife.

OLIVE.

[_Tearfully._] Oh——! oh, I would try!

[_He leaves her, and walks about agitatedly. She sits on the settee, weeping._

JOHN.

[_Rather wildly._] Well, I—I only want to cleanse the slate. My cursed stupidity has smeared poor little Mrs. Fraser’s character; I want to put _that_ right. It cuts me to the heart to see how wretched _you_ are, Olive; I want to put _that_ right. Oh, if we fail again——!

OLIVE.

We c—c—can’t fail again—it’s impossible!

JOHN.

[_Desperately, throwing himself into the chair._] All right! Heaven have mercy upon us—we’re reconciled! Ring the bell. [_She rises and touches the bell-press, and with the aid of the mirror over the mantelpiece attempts to adjust her hair and straighten her bonnet, he watching her._] By Jove, you have pluck!

OLIVE.

To face these people?

JOHN.

[_With a short laugh._] I call it true courage.

OLIVE.

It’s nothing; I am so happy. Oh, John, you shall never regret this.

[QUAIFE _enters_.

JOHN.

[_Rising._] Show Mrs. Cloys and the two gentlemen in here.

QUAIFE.

Yes, sir.

JOHN.

Tell them that Mr. and _Mrs._ Allingham are now disengaged.

QUAIFE.

Yes, sir. [_He withdraws._

OLIVE.

[_Turning sharply._] _Mrs._ Allingham——?

JOHN.

It wouldn’t be quite fair to spring you upon them suddenly——

OLIVE.