Sel. (at his wits end). Allow me to explain!
Dibbs (aside). Leave it to me! (Crosses to C. aloud.) Please, mum, it’s mine!
Mrs. S. (drying her tears). I believe neither of you!
Sel. (indignantly). Dibbs, how dare you tell your mistress such a villainous falsehood! You will end your days in an editor’s office if you go on like this. My dear, I will tell you the truth—it’s not mine, but Fred’s!
Mrs. S. Prove it!
Sel. Look at the envelope! (Picking up envelope from floor, where he has previously thrown it.) Same hand, see! (Aside.) Poor Fred! I have had to throw you overboard to save the ship!
Mrs. S. (examining envelope and letter). Yes, it is the same writing. The reprobate! Now, I suppose you don’t want Grace to marry him! (Bitterly.)
Sel. Yes, I do!
Mrs. S. (firmly). Mr. Bellamy leaves this house to-morrow!
Sel. He shan’t!