Hush!
Rose.
[Heedlessly.] The song I sang in The Peddler—The Peddler of Marseilles! the song that used to make you cry, Arthur! [They attempt vainly to hush her down, but she continues dramatically, in hoarse whispers.] And then Raphael enters—comes on to the bridge. The music continues, softly. "Raphael, why have you kept me waiting? Man, do you wish to break my heart—[thumping her breast] a woman's hear—r—rt, Raphael?"
[Sir William and Miss Gower suddenly whip off their newspapers and sit erect. Sir William is a grim, bullet-headed old gentleman of about seventy; Miss Gower a spare, prim lady, of gentle manners, verging upon sixty. They stare at each other for a moment, silently.]
Sir William.
What a hideous riot, Trafalgar!
Miss Gower.
Rose.
dear, I hope I have been mistaken—but through my sleep I fancied I could hear you shrieking at the top of your voice.
[Sir William gets on to his feet; all rise, except Rose, who remains seated sullenly.]