John.
What would you have done?
Theophila.
Oh, one day, the usual headache; not at home the next—the proper thing. But, Jack dear, I never felt the slightest fear of you—and that’s what makes an end like this so cruel, so intolerably cruel.
John.
Never felt the slightest fear of me——?
Theophila.
No, never; oh, of course, a woman can tell. Somehow, I knew—I knew you couldn’t be a black-guard.
John.
[About to seize her hand, but restraining himself.] God bless you! God bless you! [He walks away and pokes the fire vigorously, hitting the coal triumphantly.] Ah, ha, ha! [Turning to Theophila.] I beg your pardon; you’re in the most uncomfortable chair in the room.