DEB. It is put to the person who is supposed to be acting dishonorably—I put it to you.
CLARA. I am afraid I have been mixing things up. I was under the impression that it was the stout lady, your aunt, that was Mr. Rollitt’s mother.
DEB. You are very smart, Miss Dexter, and I am not, but this is no game—it is earnest.
CLARA. Then I would suggest to you that your cousin is quite capable of taking care of himself.
DEB. Yes, against a man; but not against the woman he loves and trusts. It is his love that enables you to deceive him.
CLARA. (Crossing to R.—sits on chair near table r.) You seem to have made up your mind, my dear child, that I am deceiving him.
DEB. (l.c.) I know that he has asked you to become his wife, and I know that although you have let him think it is all right, you have never given him a real answer. I know that you accept his attentions, his invitations, his presents. (Noticing the book and notes on the table, points to them.) And all the while you are having whispered interviews and secret meetings with another man.
CLARA. (Coolly counting notes.) If you are thinking of the conversation you were trying to listen to just now—
DEB. That is only the latest of many such I have noticed. They began three months ago, down in Devonshire. I come to London and find the same thing going on.
CLARA. (Sneering.)’ You really ought to have been a detective, the force might have been some use then.