Grizzly ones. It may be that thus I shall forget my grief.
~Henry~ (_after a pause_). Perhaps you are right, George. What shall I tell--her?
~George.~ Tell her--nothing. But should anything (_feeling casually in his pockets_) happen to me--if (_going over them again quickly_) I do not come back, then (_searching them all, including the waist coat ones, in desperate haste_) give her, give her, give her (_triumphantly bringing his handkerchief out of the last pocket_) this, and say that my last thought was of her. Good-bye, my old friend. Good-bye.
(_Exit to Rocky Mountains._)
_Enter_ Isobel.
~Isobel.~ Why, where's Mr. Turnbull?
~Henry~ (_sadly_). He's gone.
~Isobel.~ Gone? Where?
~Henry.~ To the Rocky Mountains. To shoot bears. (_Feeling that some further explanation is needed._) Grizzly ones.
~Isobel.~ But he was _here_ a moment ago.
~Henry.~ Yes, he's only _just_ gone.
~Isobel.~ Why didn't he say good-bye? (_Eagerly._) But perhaps he left a message for me? (_Henry shakes his head._) Nothing? (_Henry bows silently and leaves the room._) Oh! (_She gives a cry and throws herself on the sofa._) And I loved him! George, George, why didn't you speak?
_Enter_ George _hurriedly. He is fully dressed for a shooting expedition in the Rocky Mountains, and carries a rifle under his arm._
* * * * *
~George~ (_to the audience_). I have just come back for my pocket-handkerchief. I must have dropped it in here somewhere. (_He begins to search for it, and in the ordinary course of things comes upon_ Isobel _on the sofa. He puts his rifle down carefully on a table, with the muzzle pointing at the prompter rather than at the audience, and staggers back._) Merciful heavens! Isobel! Dead! (_He falls on his knees beside the sofa._) My love, speak to me!
~Isobel~ (_softly_). George!
~George.~ She is alive! Isobel!
~Isobel.~ Don't go, George!
~George.~ My dear, I love you! But when I heard that you were another's, honour compelled me----
~Isobel~ (_sitting up quickly_). What do you mean by another's?
~George.~ You said you were engaged!
~Isobel~ (_suddenly realising how the dreadful misunderstanding arose which nearly wrecked two lives_). But I only meant I was engaged to play tennis with Lady Carbrook!
~George.~ What a fool I have been! (_He hurries on before the audience can assent._) Then, Isobel, you _will_ be mine?
~Isobel.~ Yes, George. And you won't go and shoot nasty bears, will you, dear? Not even grizzly ones?
~George~ (_taking her in his arms_). Never, darling. That was only (_turning to the audience with the air of one who is making his best point_) ~A slight misunderstanding.~
CURTAIN.
XLII. "MISS PRENDERGAST"
_As the curtain goes up two ladies are discovered in the morning-room of Honeysuckle Lodge engaged in work of a feminine nature._ Miss Alice Prendergast _is doing something delicate with a crochet-hook, but it is obvious that her thoughts are far away. She sighs at intervals and occasionally lays down her work and presses both hands to her heart. A sympathetic audience will have no difficulty in guessing that she is in love. On the other hand, her elder sister_, Miss Prendergast, _is completely wrapped up in a sock for one of the poorer classes, over which she frowns formidably. The sock, however, has no real bearing upon the plot, and she must not make too much of it._
~Alice~ (_hiding her emotions_). Did you have a pleasant dinner-party last night, Jane?
~Jane~ (_to herself_). Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty. (_Looking up._) Very pleasant indeed, Alice. The Blizzards were there, and the Podbys, and the Slumphs. (_These people are not important and should not be over-emphasised._) Mrs. Podby's maid has given notice.
~Alice.~ Who took you in?
~Jane~ (_brightening up_). Such an interesting man, my dear. He talked most agreeably about Art during dinner, and we renewed the conversation in the drawing-room. We found that we agreed upon all the main principles of Art, considered as such.
~Alice~ (_with a look in her eyes which shows that she is recalling a tender memory_). When I was in Shropshire last week---- What was your man's name?
~Jane~ (_with a warning glance at the audience_). You know how difficult it is to catch names when one is introduced. I am certain he never heard mine. (_As the plot depends partly upon this, she pauses for it to sink in._) But I enquired about him afterwards, and I find that he is a Mr.----
_Enter_ Mary, _the parlourmaid._
~Mary~ (handing letter). A letter for you, Miss.
~Jane~ (_taking it_). Thank you, Mary. (_Exit_ Mary _to work up her next line._) A letter! I wonder who it is from! (_Reading the envelope._) "Miss Prendergast, Honeysuckle Lodge." (_She opens it with the air of one who has often received letters before, but feels that this one may play an important part in her life._) "Dear Miss Prendergast, I hope you will pardon the presumption of what I am about to write to you, but whether you pardon me or not, I ask you to listen to me. I know of no woman for whose talents I have a greater admiration or for whose qualities I have a more sincere affection than yourself. Since I have known you, you have been the lodestar of my existence, the fountain of my inspiration. I feel that, were your life joined to mine, the joint path upon which we trod would be the path to happiness, such as I have as yet hardly dared to dream of. In short, dear Miss Prendergast, I ask you to marry me, and I will come in person for my answer. Yours truly (_in a voice of intense surprise_) Jas. Bootle!"
(_At the word "Bootle" a wave of warm colour rushes over Alice and dyes her from neck to brow. If she is not an actress of sufficient calibre to ensure this, she must do the best she can by starting abruptly and putting her hand to her throat._)
~Alice~ (_aside, in a choking voice_). Mr. Bootle! In love with Jane!
~Jane.~ My dear! The man who took me down to dinner! Well!
~Alice~ (_picking up her work again and trying to be calm_). What will you say?
~Jane~ (_rather pleased with herself_). Well, really--I--this is--Mr. Bootle! Fancy!
~Alice~ (_starting up_). Was that a ring? (_She frowns at the prompter and a bell is heard to ring._) It is Mr. Bootle! I know his ring, I mean I know---- Dear, I think I will go and lie down. I have
