Mrs. St. Roche. (Callously.) Great heavens! the fool!
St. Roche. Yes. Shockin’, ain’t it?
Mrs. St. Roche. (Putting the glass to her lips, with a languid air.) She has blinded him, I suppose, with some story or other; or he would hardly have committed the outrage, tonight, of presenting her to me.
St. Roche. (Returning to the table and mixing a drink for himself.) That’s it—blinded him. And yet it’s almost incomprehensible how a feller can be as blind as all that. Why, the very man-in-the-street—
(The Servant switches off the lights in the billiard-room, and comes out from the room.)
St. Roche. (To the man.) I’ll switch off the lights here.
(The Servant goes out.)
Mrs. St. Roche. Well, you had better let him know that he mustn’t attempt to come to this house again.
St. Roche. Poor chap!
Mrs. St. Roche. We can’t be associated, however remotely, with such a disgraceful connection.