Re-enter Dr. Thorne. (He holds the
child in his arms, and strides in impetuously,
still limping; lays Laddie,
wrapped in a silk robe, upon the sofa.
Tries to make the child sit up; but
the little fellow languidly falls back
upon the pillows.)
(Mrs. Thorne moves quickly over, and supports the child.)
Dr. Thorne. Helen, I must have an end to this nonsense! Nothing ails Laddie. He is only a trifle feverish, with a little toothache—possibly there’s a slight cold. The child should be out of the nursery. He will sleep better for the change. Let him stay awhile—and don’t make a fool of yourself over him. It really is very unpleasant to me that you make such a fuss every time he is ailing. If you had married a green grocer, it might have been pardonable. Pray remember that you have married a physician who understands his business, and do leave me to manage it.... There! (Consults his watch.) I’m eight minutes behindhand already, all for this senseless anxiety of yours. It’s a pity you can’t trust me, like other men’s wives. I wish I had married a woman with a little wifely spirit ... or else not married at all.
[Exit Dr. Thorne. (He does not bid
his wife good-by. At the threshold of
the door he seems to hesitate, makes
as if he would turn back, but goes out.)
Mrs. Thorne. Oh-h-h me! (Utters one long, low cry; she does not speak any words. She releases her hold of Laddie, who drops back sleepily upon the sofa pillow. She seems to forget the child. She stands still, in the middle of the library, with her face towards the window; her hands are crossed before her, and clenched tightly together. A solemn expression grows upon her face. Her tears dry upon her cheeks. Her eyes widen and darken. Her mouth quivers pitifully. Still she does not speak. She moves slowly to the window, and draws the curtains back. She stands there looking out; she shades her eyes with her hand. The hand trembles.)
The Child (cries). Mamma! Mamma!
Mrs. Thorne (does not respond to the child. She moans). Esmerald!—Es—mer—ald!
End of Scene I.