Annys. I will do what I can.
Peekin. (He takes from his pocket a folded paper.) It is always so much more satisfactory when these things are in writing. Candidates, with the best intentions in the world, are apt to forget. (He has spread the paper on a corner of the table. He has in his hand his fountain-pen.)
Annys. (With a smile.) I am not likely to forget, but if you wish it—(She approaches the table.)
Geoffrey. (He interposes. His voice is very low, almost a whisper.) My wife will not sign.
Annys. (She also speaks low, but there is no yielding in her voice.) I am not only your wife. I have a duty also to others.
Geoffrey. It is for you to choose. (He leaves the way open to her.)
(The silence can almost be felt. She moves to the table, takes up the paper. It contains but a few lines of writing. Having read it, she holds out her hand for the pen. Peekin puts it in her hand. With a firm hand she signs, folds the paper, and returns it to him. She remains standing by the table. With the removal of the tension there comes a rustle, a breaking of the silence.)
Miss Ricketts. (She seizes Annys’s hand, hanging listlessly by her side, and, stooping, kisses it.)
Miss Borlasse. That is all, isn’t it?
Peekin. We thank you, Mrs. Chilvers. Good afternoon.