Justina.
But what was happening when you left?
Mrs. Quinton Twelves.
The dear old judge was just beginning to deliver his decision—his judgment.
Justina.
Oh, how could you come away then?
Mrs. Quinton Twelves.
Certainly, it was a wrench. Only, Theo wrote little notes to Sir Fletcher Portwood and to Claude and me. [Taking a screw of paper from her glove.[glove.]] Here’s mine. [Reading.] “I won’t have anybody I am fond of, except my husband, in Court at the finish. They tell me they are sure I am cleared, but it frightens me to think you are all waiting. Go to mother’s.”
Mrs. Emptage.
[Taking the note.] My poor child! [Reading it.] “... they are sure I am cleared....” ’Tina, she’s cleared!