MARK. What can it be but pretence? Look at her life this last year.
MICH. What of it?
MARK. It has been one continual round of gaiety and excitement except when she was ill.
MICH. She has been ill?
MARK. Yes, and no wonder.
MICH. Why?
MARK. She goes everywhere, gives the most extravagant parties, mixes with the fastest, emptiest, London set. And she has taken for her companion a silly, flighty little woman, Mrs. Cantelo.
SIR LYOLF. I don’t like it! Why has she come back to Cleveheddon just now?
MARK. To be present at the dedication service to-morrow, I suppose.
SIR LYOLF. Michael——