“And now, sir, you shall see one who waits to forget grief, suspicion—all, in your arms. Behold!” and here he flung the door open.
“The devil!”
“You flatter me!” said Pomander, who had had time to recover his aplomb, somewhat shaken, at first, by Mr. Vane's inopportune arrival.
Now it is to be observed that Mr. Vane had not long ago seen his wife lying on her bed, to all appearance incapable of motion.
Mr. Vane, before Triplet could recover his surprise, inquired of Pomander why he had sent for him. “And what,” added he, “is the grief, suspicion, I am, according to Mr. Triplet, to forget in your arms?”
Mr. Vane added this last sentence in rather a testy manner.
“Why, the fact is—” began Sir Charles, without the remotest idea of what the fact was going to be.
“That Sir Charles Pomander—” interrupted Triplet.
“But Mr. Triplet is going to explain,” said Sir Charles, keenly.
“Nay, sir; be yours the pleasing duty. But, now I think of it,” resumed Triplet, “why not tell the simple truth? it is not a play! She I brought you here to see was not Sir Charles Pomander; but—”