Mrs. Emptage.
The judge never said he was sorry to see a nicely bred girl, so recently married too, subjected to such a—such a—such an unwarrantable ordeal? [Fraser is silent.] Eh—h?
Theophila.
[After a brief pause.] No, mother.
Mrs. Emptage.
You were wrong, then, Fletcher, you see.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
[Holding up his hand.] Wait, wait, please! I don’t think I am very often out in my calculations. [To Theophila.] What sort of demonstration occurred at the close, may I venture to ask?
Theophila.
Demonstration?