She must have got out of the window.

Mrs. Denham.

She can't have dropped from the balcony.

Denham.

Stay a moment. (_Exit._)

Mrs. Denham.

(_resuming her position_) No peace! No peace!

(_Re-enter Denham._)

Denham.

Yes. Her skipping rope is tied to the rails. She must have dropped into the garden. She's as active as a cat.

Mrs. Denham.

And as sly. Another act of disobedience.

Denham.

Tell me, Constance, have you had a--I mean, have you punished her?

Mrs. Denham.

(_bitterly_) I beat her, since you are kind enough to inquire--beat her for her utter untrustworthiness and mean prevarication. I said I would, if she disobeyed me again.

Denham.

Poor little wretch! But what did you say to her? A mother's tongue is sometimes worse than her hands.

Mrs. Denham.

Yes, I know you think me a vulgar scold.

Denham.

I think you sometimes say more than you mean--more than you realise at the time. I wonder where the child has gone?

Mrs. Denham.

Oh, she has slunk away to some of her friends. (_Throwing off the shawl, and letting her feet drop on the ground._) Arthur, are you uneasy about her?

Denham.

Yes, rather. Jane heard her sobbing in her room, and saying she would run away.

Mrs. Denham.

Why didn't you tell me that before? (_Rises, and moves to and fro._) Oh, what have I done? What have I done?

Denham.

We must look for her. Some one may have seen her. Wait a moment.

(_He opens the door, and meets Fitzgerald, who comes in smiling._) Fitzgerald!

Fitzgerald.

(_coming down to back of sofa_) Well, I've brought you back your little waif, Mrs. Denham.

Mrs. Denham.

Undine?

Fitzgerald.

Ay, Undine!

Mrs. Denham.

Oh, I am so thankful! But where is she?

Fitzgerald.

Well, I left her below, having some milk or something. She seemed quite done up--excitement or something--eh?

Denham.

Where did you meet her, Fitz?

Fitzgerald.

I was going to my studio, and I met--met her running along the road with--with a little white scared face, and no hat on her--and her curls flying behind her--an'--an'--'pon my word, I could hardly stop her But we met a little girl with a goat, an' we stroked the goat--eh, stroked the goat--an' that comforted her a bit.

Mrs. Denham.

But where was she going?

Fitzgerald.

Oh, that's the cream o' the joke! I had a great piece of work to get out of her what ailed her, an'--an'--would you believe it?--that Undine of yours--that Undine of yours was going back to her native element. The--the mite was looking for the Thames, to drown herself!

Mrs. Denham.