Culch. (perspiring freely). Why—er—really, on so delicate a matter, I—I—— [He maunders.
Hyp. Maud, why will you be so headstrong! (In a rapid whisper.) Can't you see ... can't you guess?...
Maud. I guess I want to make sure Mr. Culchard isn't that kind of magnanimous man himself. I shouldn't want him to renounce me!
Hyp. Maud! You might at least wait until Mr. Culchard has——
Maud. Oh, but he did—weeks ago, at Bingen. And at Lugano, too, the other day, he spoke out tolerable plain. I guess he didn't wish any secret made about it—did you, Mr. Culchard?
Culch. I—ah—this conversation is rather.... If you'll excuse me—— [Escapes with as much dignity as he can command.
Maud. Well, my dear,—that's the sort of self-denying hairpin he is! What do you think of him now?
Hyp. I do not think so highly of him, I confess. His renunciation was evidently less prompted by consideration for his friend than by a recollection—tardy enough, I am afraid—of the duty which bound him to you, dearest. But if you had seen and heard him, as I did, you would not have doubted the reality of the sacrifice, whatever the true reason may have been. For myself, I am conscious of neither anger nor sorrow—my heart, as I told you, was never really affected. But what must it be to you, darling!
Maud. Well, I believe I'm more amused than anything.
Hyp. Amused! But surely you don't mean to have anything more to do with him?