AMY, feeling that Ginevra is very young, ‘Need you ask? Oh, Ginevra, to see if we could find a happy ending. It was mother’s idea.’
GINEVRA. ‘Which theatre?’
AMY. ‘I don’t know, but the erring wife confessed all—in one of those mousselines de soie that are so fashionable this year; and mother and I sat—clasping each other’s hands, praying it might end happily, though we didn’t see how it could.’
GINEVRA. ‘How awful for you. What did the husband do?’
AMY. ‘He was very calm and white. He went out of the room for a moment, and came back so white. Then he sat down by the fire, and nodded his head three times.’
GINEVRA. ‘I think I know now which theatre it was.’
AMY. ‘He asked her coldly—but always the perfect gentleman——’
GINEVRA. ‘Oh, that theatre.’
AMY. ‘He asked her whether he was to go or she.’
GINEVRA. ‘They must part?’