--George.-- I wish I could think so. (_Sighs._) But I have yet to approach her, and she may be another's. (_Fiercely._) Heavens, Henry, if she should be another's!

_Enter_ Isobel.

--Isobel-- (_brightly_). So I've run you to earth at last. Now what have you got to say for yourselves?

--Henry-- (_like a man_). By Jove! (_Looking at his watch._) I had no idea--is it really--poor old Joe--waiting----

(_Dashes out tactfully in a state of incoherence._)

--George-- (_rising and leading_ Isobel _to the front of the stage_).

Miss Barley, now that we are alone I have something I want to say to you.

--Isobel-- (_looking at her watch_). Well, you must be quick. Because I'm engaged.

(_George drops her hand and staggers away from her._)

--Isobel.-- Why, what's the matter?

--George-- (_to the audience, in a voice expressing the very deeps of emotion_). Engaged! She is engaged! I am too late!

(_He sinks into a chair, and covers his face with his hands._)

--Isobel-- (_surprised_). Mr. Turnbull! What has happened?

--George-- (_waving her away with one hand_). Go! Leave me! I can bear this best alone. (_Exit Isobel._) Merciful heavens, she is plighted to another.

_Enter_ Henry.

--Henry-- (_eagerly_). Well, old man?

--George-- (_raising a face white with misery--that is to say, if he has remembered to put the French chalk in the palms of his hands_).

Henry, I am too late! She is another's!

--Henry-- (_in surprise_). Whose?

--George-- (_with dignity_). I did not ask her. It is nothing to me.

Good-bye, Henry. Be kind to her.

--Henry.-- Why, where are you going?

--George-- (_firmly_). To the Rocky Mountains. I shall shoot some bears.

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 a.s.sent._) 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"