FERRAND. [Out of the silence.] It is nothing, Ma'moiselle! She has failed to drown herself. They run her in a little.
WELLWYN. Lend her your jacket, my dear; she'll catch her death.
[ANN, feeling MRS. MEGAN's arm, strips of her jacket, and helps
her into it without a word.]
CONSTABLE. [Donning his cloak.] Thank you. Miss—very good of you, I'm sure.
MRS. MEGAN. [Mazed.] It's warm!
[She gives them all a last half-smiling look, and Passes with
the CONSTABLE through the doorway.]
FERRAND. That makes the third of us, Monsieur. We are not in luck.
To wish us dead, it seems, is easier than to let us die.
[He looks at ANN, who is standing with her eyes fixed on her
father. WELLWYN has taken from his pocket a visiting card.]
WELLWYN. [To FERRAND.] Here quick; take this, run after her! When they've done with her tell her to come to us.
FERRAND. [Taking the card, and reading the address.] "No. 7, Haven House, Flight Street!" Rely on me, Monsieur—I will bring her myself to call on you. 'Au revoir, mon bon Monsieur'!