Nothing.
John.
[Passing his fingers over the strings of the banjo.] You don’t remember, Denzil—nor you, Peter, I suppose; she used to thrum on this thing—well, hardly this thing—the guitar—much the same. Oh, yes, she used to play it very nicely.
Shafto.
[Puzzled.] Who? Mrs. Fraser?
John.
Mrs. Fraser! No! [Handling the banjo roughly.] My wife.
Elphick.
[Hurrying across to John, taking the banjo from him.] Excuse me, old feller.
John.