[To herself, looking at the arm-chair in which Wilfrid is sleeping concealed from view.] Chance has brought them together again and Mr. Murray says that chance is a just arbiter. I’ll neither unite them nor keep them apart. Chance shall do everything for me. Well? Speak low, please.
Janet Preece.
[Pointing to door.] Your brother is not in there?
Leslie.
No. What do you want of me?
Janet Preece.
To tell you this. I’m going out to Australia in company with some poor farming people from down near home; I met them by chance here in London and it’s settled. We sail from Plymouth the day after to-morrow, and there’s an end o’ me.
Leslie.
Can I—do anything—to help you?