JOHN [his face lighting up]. Are you sure that is how you have come to think of me?
SYBIL. I’m sorry; [with all her soul] but yes—yes—yes.
JOHN. By God, it’s more than I deserve.
COMTESSE. Congratulations to you both.
[SYBIL runs away; and in the fulness of time she married successfully in cloth of silver, which was afterwards turned into a bed-spread.]
MAGGIE. You haven’t read my letter yet, John, have you?
JOHN. No.
COMTESSE [imploringly]. May I know to what darling letter you refer?
MAGGIE. It’s a letter I wrote to him before he left London. I gave it to him closed, not to be opened until his time here was ended.
JOHN [as his hand strays to his pocket]. Am I to read it now?