Michael and His Lost Angel: A Play in Five Acts

by Henry Arthur Jones

MICH. So I am. I’ll come to you at once.

(Exit ANDREW.)

MICH. (to AUDRIE). You are right. It is unseemly to give way to temper, and perhaps you won’t think me rude if I guard myself against it in future by asking you not to call upon me until I can be of real service to you. Good morning.

AUDR. Mr. Feversham, Mr. Feversham. (MICHAEL turns.) I’ve been very rude and troublesome. I beg your pardon. Please forgive me.

MICH. Certainly. Pray say no more.

AUDR. I saw you kissing that portrait as I stood at the window. It is your mother?

MICH. Yes.

AUDR. What a good woman she must have been! Don’t think because I am bad——

MICH. Are you bad?

AUDR. Didn’t you say I was? I don’t know whether I’m bad or good, but I know that no woman longs to be good more than I do—sometimes.