MRS. DUDGEON.
(disagreeably surprised). Richard?
ANDERSON.
(nodding). Yes.
MRS. DUDGEON.
(vindictively). Let it be a warning to him. He may end that way himself, the wicked, dissolute, godless— (she suddenly stops; her voice fails; and she asks, with evident dread) Did Timothy see him?
ANDERSON.
Yes.
MRS. DUDGEON.
(holding her breath). Well?
ANDERSON.
He only saw him in the crowd: they did not speak. (Mrs. Dudgeon, greatly relieved, exhales the pent up breath and sits at her ease again.) Your husband was greatly touched and impressed by his brother’s awful death. (Mrs. Dudgeon sneers. Anderson breaks off to demand with some indignation) Well, wasn’t it only natural, Mrs. Dudgeon? He softened towards his prodigal son in that moment. He sent for him to come to see him.
MRS. DUDGEON.
(her alarm renewed). Sent for Richard!
ANDERSON.
Yes; but Richard would not come. He sent his father a message; but I’m sorry to say it was a wicked message—an awful message.
MRS. DUDGEON.
What was it?
ANDERSON.
That he would stand by his wicked uncle, and stand against his good parents, in this world and the next.