Our mistake—our mistake! Poor boy!
Bellows
Poor girl, I should say!
Seymour (lifting Reba)
I'll take her down-stairs. (Carries her to door.) I shall need you, Mrs. Warner.
(Mrs. W. follows, weeping and looking back at Philo.)
Philo
I'm all right, mother.
Mrs. W.
All right. Oh, God help him! (Exit.)