Denham.

It is a narrow way.

Miss Macfarlane.

If ye can’t have good morals, at least have good manners. (Crosses
L.)

Denham.

Oh, good manners are becoming obsolete.  They are too much trouble for this Bohemian age.  Ladies and gentlemen went out with gold snuffboxes and hooped petticoats; we are trying to be men and women now, frankly and brutally.

Miss Macfarlane.

Eh! and I suppose ye thought ye were learning to be a man by playing at Adam and Eve with Mrs. Tremaine?

Denham.

(crosses R) We drifted, we drifted.

Miss Macfarlane.

A man has no right to drift, Mr. Denham.  Ye have to look before ye, and pick your steps in this world; at any rate, when other people are hurt by your slips.  An irresponsible animal isn’t a man.

Denham.

I wish we had a Court of Love, Miss Macfarlane, with you for
President.  But, if you’ll excuse me, I shall leave you with
Constance now.  I know she would like to speak to you.

(Exit.)

Miss Macfarlane.

Well, my dear, what is it?  You see I claim the privilege of an old friend.

Mrs. Denham.

I can bear my burden alone, Miss Macfarlane. (Crosses C.)

Miss Macfarlane.

Of course you can, my dear.  But there’s no harm in a little honest sympathy.

Mrs. Denham.

(sobbing and embracing her) Oh, I beg your pardon!  But I am so miserable, so miserable!

Miss Macfarlane.

There, there—­that’s right. (Leads Mrs. Denham to sofa.) And now you can tell me or not, just as you like.

Mrs. Denham.

What is there to tell?  It is all over—­that is all. (She sits down, weeping.)

Miss Macfarlane.

But what’s all over?  We sometimes think things are all over, when they’re only beginning.  A thunderstorm’s not the Day of Judgment.  It clears the air.

Mrs. Denham.

This is the Day of Judgment for me.  I am weighed in the balance and found wanting.  I wish I were dead.

Miss Macfarlane.

Nonsense, dear; you’re no failure.  But I’ll tell ye what the two of you are—­a pair of fools; that’s what you are.  You should have put your foot down, my dear. She was the Black Cat you ought to have got rid of, and nipped this business in the bud.  I don’t know how far it has gone.  Does he want to run away with her?

Mrs. Denham.

No; he professes to have given her up.

Miss Macfarlane.

Then he’s none such a fool, after all.  That woman would have led him a pretty dance!

Mrs. Denham.

He loves her—­let him go to her. (Rises and crosses L. Stopped by Miss Macfarlane.)

Miss Macfarlane.

Fiddlesticks, my dear!  Don’t force him into her arms.  Mind you, he has vowed to cherish you as well as to love you; and how can he do that if you drive him away?  Do ye remember one of his misquotations from Byron: