O, I don’t know. The East or some such
place. I’ve often heard people speak of
it, and somehow it seemed so. . .
The East, John? Not the East. I don’t
think the East somehow is quite respectable.
O well, it’s all right, I never went, and never
shall go now. It doesn’t matter.
Mary [the photographs catching her eye]
O, John, I meant to tell you. Such a dreadful
thing happened.
Well, Liza was dusting the photographs, and when
she came to Jane’s she says she hadn’t
really begun to dust it, only looked at it, and it
fell down, and that bit of glass is broken right out
of it.
Ask her not to look at it so hard another time.
O, what do you mean, John?
Well, that’s how she broke it; she said so,
and as I know you believe in Liza . . .
Well, I can’t think she’d tell a lie,
John.
No, of course not. But she mustn’t look
so hard another time.
And it’s poor little Jane’s photograph.
She will feel it so.
O, that’s all right, we’ll get it mended.
Still, it’s a dreadful thing to have happened.
We’ll get it mended, and if Jane is unhappy
about it she can have Alice’s frame. Alice
is too young to notice it.
She isn’t, John. She’d notice it
quick.
Mary [looking at photo thoughtfully]
Well, perhaps George might give up his frame.
Yes, tell Liza to change it. Why not make her
do it now?
Not to-day, John. Not on a Sunday. She
shall do it to-morrow by the time you get back from
the office.
All right. It might have been worse.
