"Jack," he mutters, "my God, Jack!"
As he sits there, the valet enters with a telegram on a tray.
"A telegram, Sir John."
Sir John (dazed and trying to collect himself), "What?"
"A telegram, sir,—a cablegram."
Sir John takes it, opens it and reads aloud:
"He is dead. My duty is ended. I am coming home—Margaret Harding."
"Margaret coming home. It only needed that—my God."
. . . . . . .
As he says it, the curtain falls.