“Has it ever struck you,” answered Shelton, “that in a play nowadays there's always a 'Chorus of Scandalmongers' which seems to have acquired the attitude of God?”
Halidome cleared his throat, and there was something portentous in the sound.
“You're so d—-d fastidious,” was his answer.
“I've a prejudice for keeping the two things separate,” went on Shelton. “That ending makes me sick.”
“Why?” replied Halidome. “What other end is possible? You don't want a play to leave you with a bad taste in your mouth.”
“But this does.”
Halidome increased his stride, already much too long; for in his walk, as in all other phases of his life, he found it necessary to be in front.
“How do you mean?” he asked urbanely; “it's better than the woman making a fool of herself.”
“I'm thinking of the man.”
“What man?”