[Impatiently.] You’ve read my letter, Jack. I’m a—what am I?—a single woman again; a sort of widow.
John.
You are acting too hastily; you’re simply carried away by a rush of indignation. Perhaps matters can be arranged, patched up. You mustn’t be allowed to——
Theophila.
Arranged! patched up! You don’t realise what you’re proposing! You wouldn’t make such a suggestion if you had been a fly on the wall this afternoon while Mr. Fraser and I were—having a little talk. [Struggling to keep back her tears.] Alec—my husband—he was very much in love with me at one time! I never doubted that he would stand by me through thick and thin. He has done so pretty well, up till to-day, up till the trial, and then, suddenly, he—he——
[She produces her handkerchief, rises, then moves away abruptly, and stands, with her back to John, crying.
John.
[Turning to the fire.] Mr. Fraser was taken aback, flabbergasted, I expect, by the tone adopted by the judge to-day; there’s that poor excuse for him. But a little reflection will soon——
Theophila.
[Drying her eyes.] Oh, don’t prose, Jack! [Turning.] On the whole, I think it’s better that he and I have at last managed to find out where we are.