FREDA. I shall be—all—right, thank you.
BILL. You must think me a blackguard. [She shakes her head] Abuse me—say something! Don't look like that!
FREDA. Were you ever really fond of me?
BILL. Of course I was, I am now. Give me your hands.
She looks at him, then drags her hands from his, and covers her face.
BILL. [Clenching his fists] Look here! I'll prove it. [Then as she suddenly flings her arms round his neck and clings to him] There, there!
There is a click of a door handle. They start away from each other, and see LADY CHESHIRE regarding them.
LADY CHESHIRE. [Without irony] I beg your pardon.
She makes as if to withdraw from an unwarranted intrusion, but suddenly turning, stands, with lips pressed together, waiting.
LADY CHESHIRE. Yes?