[MAGGIE is obviously not clever enough to understand the woman question.
Her eye rests longingly on a half-finished stocking as she innocently
but densely replies:]
MAGGIE. I think it was about the time that my husband took up their
cause.
[The COMTESSE has been hearing tales of LADY SYBIL and the barbarian; and after having the grace to hesitate, she speaks with the directness for which she is famed in Mayfair.]
COMTESSE. Mrs. Shand, excuse me for saying that if half of what I hear be true, your husband is seeing that lady a great deal too often. [MAGGIE is expressionless; she reaches for her stocking, whereat her guest loses patience.] Oh, mon Dieu, put that down; you can buy them at two francs the pair. Mrs. Shand, why do not you compel yourself to take an intelligent interest in your husband’s work?
MAGGIE. I typewrite his speeches.
COMTESSE. But do you know what they are about?
MAGGIE. They are about various subjects.
COMTESSE. Oh!
[Did MAGGIE give her an unseen quizzical glance before demurely resuming the knitting? One is not certain, as JOHN has come in, and this obliterates her. A ‘Scotsman on the make,’ of whom DAVID has spoken reverently, is still to be read—in a somewhat better bound volume—in JOHN SHAND’s person; but it is as doggedly honest a face as ever; and he champions women, not for personal ends, but because his blessed days of poverty gave him a light upon their needs. His self-satisfaction, however, has increased, and he has pleasantly forgotten some things. For instance, he can now call out ‘Porter’ at railway stations without dropping his hands for the barrow. MAGGIE introduces the COMTESSE, and he is still undaunted.]
JOHN. I remember you well—at Glasgow.
COMTESSE. It must be quite two years ago, Mr. Shand.