She was very pretty when I married her, wasn’t she?
Shafto.
Undoubtedly.
[John sits, leaning his head upon his hands. Shafto walks away, quietly, to the window. Elphick sits on the settee, and, turning his face to the fire, strikes up a tune on his banjo.
John.
That’s right! tune up, Peter! If I had a savage breast this evening you might soothe it with your Tinka-tinka-tinka-tinka-tink, as Kipling says. But I haven’t—isn’t that odd? Boys, do you know, all the bitterness I’ve been feeling towards her seems to have died out of me; and she’s been dragging me pretty thoroughly through the mud lately. Isn’t that odd?
Shafto.
[Leaving the window, and coming to the back of settee.] Well, she’s lost the day, you see.
Elphick.
[Ceasing playing.] She’s beaten; got nothin’ for her pains.