B. No, mum. He axed me “was you out,” and I told him you had gone into Mrs. Clarke’s for a few minutes. He said it was no matter; he only wanted to know had you mended the pocket of his weskit.
Mrs. S. I entirety forgot it. Just pass it from the hall-closet, Bridget, and I will mend it at once. It will serve to pass the time away.
(Exit B., R.)
B. (enters, R.). Here it is, mum (passes vest to Mrs. S.). An’ I think I’ll be goin’ upstairs, if ye don’t want me any more. It’s gettin’ late.
Mrs. S. Very well, Bridget. I believe that is all I need.
(Exit Bridget, R.)
Mrs. S. I think it was the pocket on the right side that needed mending. (Turns pocket inside out.) What is this? (Picks up a letter in a small envelope, directed in a lady’s hand.) It cannot be a letter from his sister. I must open it. (Unfolds the letter and reads):—
“Dearest John,—It is a long time since the sight of your face has gladdened my heart. Cannot you call on me this, evening? I will refuse myself to every one else. Remember I have not seen you for a whole week. Notwithstanding your protestations of devotion to me, I fear you are too attentive to your wife, and you know she does not appreciate your love as I do. Do not fail to come. If it is necessary to make any excuses, say that you are obliged to be away on business. I count the moments till we meet.
“Lillian Percival.”
Mrs. S. (bitterly). Is it possible that John has deceived me, and is carrying on an intrigue with such a woman as that?—I cannot believe it,—and yet it must be so. (Hears sound of a latch-key,—listens.) That is his step now. (Puts letter back in another pocket of vest, and begins to sew.)