“You ought to have given it to Barnaby,” she said.
Anxious and remorseful, she went on her knees, groping feverishly in the long grass. “On your hands and knees” kept sounding irrelevantly in her brain. Mr. Flippance watched her like a neutral. “I’d forgotten that the woman runs away with the piece,” he explained to her distracted ear. “I thought marriage was a show with two principals. But if there’s got to be a leading lady, why not stick to Polly?”
“You should have thought of that before,” she murmured.
“Correct as Polonius, Jinny. Even when I get the theatre, it’ll only be hell over again. Why couldn’t I stick to the marionettes? I charge thee fling away ambition, Jinny—by that sin fell the angels. But you’ve only flung away my ring.”
“Here it is!” She pounced joyfully.
“Just my luck!” He took it ruefully.
“I thought you said she was so pure and wonderful!” she reminded him.
He winced. “That wouldn’t prevent her bullying me,” he replied somewhat lamely.
“What about the taming of the shrew?” she asked.
“By Jove! You’re right, Jinny! Petruchio’s the game! Whips and scorpions, what?” His face took on a little of its old colour. “It’s getting up so early that has upset me. After all, Jinny, a lovely woman who loves you and puts all her money on you isn’t to be picked up every day.”