The Magistrate: A Farce in Three Acts

by Arthur Wing Pinero

It was a debt of honour. He laid me a box of gloves to a pair of slippers about “Forked Lightning” for the Regimental Cup, and “Forked Lightning” went tender at the heel. I couldn’t come to you with debts hanging over me. [Crying.] I’m too conscientious.

Vale.

By Jove, I’ve been a brute.

Charlotte.

Y-y-yes.

Vale.

Can you forget I ever wrote that letter?

Charlotte.

That must be a question of time. [She lays her head on his shoulder and then removes it.] How damp you are. [She puts her handkerchief upon his shoulder, and replaces her head. She moves his arm gradually up and arranges it round her shoulder.] If you went on anyhow every time I discharged an obligation, we should be most unhappy.