WELLWYN. [Sharply.] What! But-oh! No! No! That'll be all right, Constable! That'll be all right! I assure you.
CONSTABLE. [With more decision.] I'll have to charge her, sir.
WELLWYN. Good God! You don't mean to say the poor little thing has got to be——
CONSTABLE. [Consulting with him.] Well, sir, we can't get over the facts, can we? There it is! You know what sooicide amounts to— it's an awkward job.
WELLWYN. [Calming himself with an effort.] But look here, Constable, as a reasonable man—This poor wretched little girl—you know what that life means better than anyone! Why! It's to her credit to try and jump out of it!
[The CONSTABLE shakes his head.]
WELLWYN. You said yourself her best friends couldn't wish her better! [Dropping his voice still more.] Everybody feels it! The Vicar was here a few minutes ago saying the very same thing—the Vicar, Constable! [The CONSTABLE shakes his head.] Ah! now, look here, I know something of her. Nothing can be done with her. We all admit it. Don't you see? Well, then hang it—you needn't go and make fools of us all by——
FERRAND. Monsieur, it is the first of April.
CONSTABLE. [With a sharp glance at him.] Can't neglect me duty, sir; that's impossible.
WELLWYN. Look here! She—slipped. She's been telling me. Come, Constable, there's a good fellow. May be the making of her, this.