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Horace Holley
This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 62 pages of information about Read-Aloud Plays.

ROGER

Through another woman?

MARGARET

I mean, supposing there was another woman who loved him—­one who could be to him all he needed, who would understand, and who was all right.  One he could marry.

ROGER

Yes, but—­

MARGARET

And supposing this other woman had heard things about Arthur, and was terribly hurt, and Arthur knew she was, and that’s why he kept away; but your mother talked with her for a long while, and made her understand.  Even sent for that woman—­you know.  And then this woman, the right one, did understand, and was ready to marry Arthur....

ROGER

Margaret, are you crying?  Are you crying, Margaret? Margaret, was it you?

THE TELEGRAM

Perron, a stout, middle-aged figure, is seated in front of his watchmaker’s establishment near the Place St. Sulpice.  The awning sags, and the shop wears an air of sober discouragement.  Whatever expression the years have left Perron’s round face capable of is concentrated upon the changing scenes cinematographed to his mind’s eye by some strong and unusual emotion.  Alexandre, a tall, stooped man, with a flowing black tie, bows in passing with old-fashioned punctiliousness to Perron, who apparently is unaware of his presence.  Suddenly Perron starts, rubs his eyes, and glares about.

PERRON

Alexandre!  Alexandre!

ALEXANDRE

Good day, my friend.  You seem distraught.

PERRON

Distraught!  It was the strangest thing!  But sit here with me.  Do.  I have something to tell you.

ALEXANDRE

I regret exceedingly, but a stupid engagement....  Later, perhaps—­

PERRON

No!  No!  I insist!  Only a great mind like yours can explain the strange thing which has happened.

ALEXANDRE

Ah, in that case—­what is a mere business affair compared with divine philosophy?  Far from being presse, friend Perron, I have an eternity at your service.

PERRON

First of all, tell me the exact date!

ALEXANDRE

That I can do, and not on my own authority, which in such details is often unreliable.  This morning my concierge announced with great delicacy and feeling that to-day is Friday, the fifteenth July, and my rent is once more due.  My rent, which—­

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