[Tearfully.] Oh——! oh, I would try!
[He leaves her, and walks about agitatedly. She sits on the settee, weeping.
John.
[Rather wildly.] Well, I—I only want to cleanse the slate. My cursed stupidity has smeared poor little Mrs. Fraser’s character; I want to put that right. It cuts me to the heart to see how wretched you are, Olive; I want to put that right. Oh, if we fail again——!
Olive.
We c—c—can’t fail again—it’s impossible!
John.
[Desperately, throwing himself into the chair.] All right! Heaven have mercy upon us—we’re reconciled! Ring the bell. [She rises and touches the bell-press, and with the aid of the mirror over the mantelpiece attempts to adjust her hair and straighten her bonnet, he watching her.] By Jove, you have pluck!
Olive.
To face these people?