Fitzgerald.
Well, I left her below, having some milk or something. She seemed quite done up—excitement or something—eh?
Denham.
Where did you meet her, Fitz?
Fitzgerald.
I was going to my studio, and I met—met her running along the road with—with a little white scared face, and no hat on her—and her curls flying behind her—an'—an'—'pon my word, I could hardly stop her But we met a little girl with a goat, an' we stroked the goat—eh, stroked the goat—an' that comforted her a bit.
Mrs. Denham.
But where was she going?
Fitzgerald.
Oh, that's the cream o' the joke! I had a great piece of work to get out of her what ailed her, an'—an'—would you believe it?—that Undine of yours—that Undine of yours was going back to her native element. The—the mite was looking for the Thames, to drown herself!