You never loved me. Your cakes and ale are no concern of mine.

(_Crosses to table. Knock at door._) Come in!

(_Enter Jane, showing in Miss Macfarlane._)

Jane.

Miss Macfarlane!

(_Exit._)

Miss Macfarlane.

Well, my dear, how are you all? Eh! but what's the matter now? (_She looks from one to the other._) Mrs. Tremaine, I suppose?

Denham.

Mrs. Tremaine has gone away--back to the desert, as she says.

Miss Macfarlane.

And high time for her, too. Upon my word, I should like to give that fascinating person a bit of my mind.

Denham.

And me too, I am sure.

Miss Macfarlane.

Well, as you ask me, Mr. Denham, I think your conduct in bringing that woman into the house, and carrying on a flirtation with her under your wife's eyes, was simply abominable. It was an insult to Constance. Did ye ever consider that? It was not the conduct of a gentleman!

Denham.

No, a gentleman should throw a decent veil of secrecy over his--flirtations. But, you see, if I had done that, I should have been a hypocrite; now I'm only a brute.

Miss Macfarlane.

Oh, my dear boy, don't be a brute, and then you needn't be a hypocrite. There's the way out of that.

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.