Dawson. No.
Mr. Wolton. But Laura? she loves me, and Marion. They will suffer for me; I may be weakly dishonourable, but I've always loved them, and they me. Besides, any public dishonour which comes to my name must touch theirs too.
Dawson. I'm not so sure about that—I think there is material for a divorce here.
Mr. Wolton. A divorce! My God, must I lose everything! Show a little pity, Fred! Remember the old days at school; was I a bad boy? We were chums for years, you know it!—You were my best man when I married Laura, and you were the gayest at the wedding! It's only been this curse of gambling with the stocks that has driven me to the devil,—that and my cursed luck.
Dawson. Luck has nothing to do with honour.
Mr. Wolton. You don't know—oftener than you think, it has everything! [Enter Servant.
Servant. Supper is ready, sir. Can we have this room?
Dawson. Yes, Howes, I'm going!
Servant. Thank you, sir. [Exits.
Mr. Wolton. Give me a word of hope, Fred!—something! What are you going to do?