MRS WHITEFIELD. [running to him and lifting his head] What's the matter, Tavy? Are you ill?
OCTAVIUS. No, nothing, nothing.
MRS WHITEFIELD. [still holding his head, anxiously] But you're crying. Is it about Violet's marriage?
OCTAVIUS. No, no. Who told you about Violet?
MRS WHITEFIELD. [restoring the head to its owner] I met Roebuck and that awful old Irishman. Are you sure you're not ill? What's the matter?
OCTAVIUS. [affectionately] It's nothing—only a man's broken heart. Doesn't that sound ridiculous?
MRS WHITEFIELD. But what is it all about? Has Ann been doing anything to you?
OCTAVIUS. It's not Ann's fault. And don't think for a moment that I blame you.
MRS WHITEFIELD. [startled] For what?
OCTAVIUS. [pressing her hand consolingly] For nothing. I said I didn't blame you.