Capt. G. You've never cried in my knowledge of you, and I don't believe you could.
Mrs. G. I feel very like it today, Pip. Don't be hard on me. (Reads letter.) It begins in the middle, without any “Dear Captain Gadsby,” or anything. How funny!
Capt. G. (Aside.) No, it's not Dear Captain Gadsby, or anything, now. How funny!
Mrs. G. What a strange letter! (Reads.) “And so the moth has come too near the candle at last, and has been singed into—shall I say Respectability? I congratulate him, and hope he will be as happy as he deserves to be.” What does that mean? Is she congratulating you about our marriage?
Capt. G. Yes, I suppose so.
Mrs. G. (Still reading letter.) She seems to be a particular friend of yours.
Capt. G. Yes. She was an excellent matron of sorts—a Mrs. Herriott—wife of a Colonel Herriott. I used to know some of her people at Home long ago—before I came out.
Mrs. G. Some Colonel's wives are young—as young as me. I knew one who was younger.
Capt. G. Then it couldn't have been Mrs. Herriott. She was old enough to have been your mother, dear.
Mrs. G. I remember now. Mrs. Scargill was talking about her at the Dutfins' tennis, before you came for me, on Tuesday. Captain Mafflin said she was a “dear old woman.” Do you know, I think Mafflin is a very clumsy man with his feet.