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.
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