[With a shrug of the shoulder.] They can scarcely know what to think.
Olive.
[Walking to the mantelpiece.] What do you think yourself, of my humbling myself in this fashion? [Turning to him.] What do you——? [As she has crossed to the left of the room, he, still at a distance, has moved over to the right. Speaking with a catch in her breath.] Oh, don’t do that! I’m not poisonous, John. [He approaches stiffly and silently. She advances towards him plaintively.] John, I am quite worn out—[putting her hand to her bosom]—burnt out here. This desperate lawsuit has been my last bolt. I’m finished—spent. I know my regrets won’t avail us much at this time of day; the future has a most melancholy look-out for both of us; but I want to tell you I am truly conscious, at last, of the evil my jealousy has wrought. [Sitting weakly.] Yes, John, I—I am quite reasonable at last.
[Quaife enters.
Quaife.
Dinner is s——
[He breaks off, staring at Olive.
Olive.
Good evening, Quaife.
Quaife.