Bennet has collected his troop. Leads them away. Dr. Freemantle, kindly and helpful, takes off Vernon and the two ladies.
NEWTE [he grips her hand, and speaks in his short, growling way]. Good night, old girl. [He follows the others out.]
FANNY [crosses towards the windows. Her chief business is dabbing her eyes. The door closes with a click. She turns. She puts her handkerchief away. She looks at the portrait of Constance, first Lady Bantock]. I believe it’s what you’ve been telling me to do, all the time.
[CURTAIN]
ACT IV
SCENE
The same. The blinds are down. Ashes fill the grate.
Time.—Early the next morning.
The door opens softly. Newte steals in. He fumbles his way across to the windows, draws the blinds. The morning sun streams in. He listens—no one seems to be stirring. He goes out, returns immediately with a butler’s tray, containing all things necessary for a breakfast and the lighting of a fire. He places the tray on table, throws his coat over a chair, and is on his knees busy lighting the fire, when enter the Misses Wetherell, clad in dressing-gowns and caps: yet still they continue to look sweet. They also creep in, hand in hand. The crouching Newte is hidden by a hanging fire-screen. They creep forward till the coat hanging over the chair catches their eye. They are staring at it as Robinson Crusoe might at the footprint, when Newte rises suddenly and turns. The Misses Wetherell give a suppressed scream, and are preparing for flight.
NEWTE [he stays them]. No call to run away, ladies. When a man’s travelled—as I have—across America, in a sleeping-car, with a comic-opera troop, there’s not much left for him to know. You want your breakfast! [He wheedles them to the table.] We’ll be able to talk cosily—before anybody else comes.