John.
[Savagely taking a cigarette from the box on the table and sticking it between his teeth.] Women of your temperament detect a leer in the smile of a wax doll.
Olive.
I give you my word that I will make every allowance for you both, if you will let me hear you together. You are old friends—“chums” was her expression for it in the witness-box to-day—and you are Jack and Theo to each other, naturally; I am prepared for all that kind of thing. She can kiss you good-bye when she parts from you—[beating her brow]—I can comprehend even that. Only—only let me be satisfied by her general tone and bearing, by that unmistakable ring in the voice, that she has never been the arrant little profligate I once thought her.
[John now sitting staring at the carpet and chewing the end of his cigarette.
John.
Supposing I—consented, and you were—satisfied——?
Olive.
[Rising and speaking earnestly and rapidly.] We are in June; I would have her to stay with me. My friends, her own friends, should see that we were close companions. She should go everywhere with me; my arm should always be through hers. I would get a crowd together; she should receive my guests with me. Oh, by Goodwood week her reputation should be as sound as any woman’s in England! Come! think of the dreadful days and nights she’s given me, whether she’s good or bad! Come! wouldn’t that be generous?
John.