Sir T. There can be
No reconcilement now. She prophesied
To-night's disaster, and to make all sure
Began the hissing on the gallery stairs.
St. J. She didn't!
Sir T. But she did: none other, she.
St. J. How horrible!
Sir T. Oh, worse than horrible!
The woman whom I chose has now become
A scaly leprosy about my life.
St. J. That's damnable! No more of that! Your wife
Is deeply in the right: your corpses only
Could fill the breach that opens up between you:
It is the grave that gapes. If you're to live
It must be by divorce. Do you consent?
Sir T. That also means the grave; for if we break
Our home up, bankruptcy and ruin come:
Indeed they're here already. Look at these.
[Hands St. James's the two letters.]
St. J. [Having read one of the letters]
That's nothing but a seeming urgent threat,
And very vilely-civilly worded too:
Lawyer and gentleman are synonyms,
But the law's not a gentleman.
[Having opened the second letter.]
What's this?
Your bankers?—Ah!—"and if"—
Sir T. Don't read it out.
St. J. [Having read the second letter]
If this is met you have a breathing-space?