Phil. But one dose of medicine.
Sir P. Just one more. (exit with Philip, L.U.D., music in orchestra)
Bea. (behind sofa, R. of it) One more! My last chance—and I dare not take it. At twelve o’clock to-morrow, all I have worked for, all I have schemed for, all I have married for, slips through my fingers. (gets front of sofa) And I can do nothing! No, it is too dangerous; and if I stop now, I am safe enough. But what is safety worth? Tied to my husband for his life, and at his death, a pauper! Whilst she—she will be the Countess of Normantower! Unless—unless—(sits on sofa smiling to herself). He doesn’t know that she is Philip’s sister. It is arranged it shall be kept a secret. Then, why is Philip leaving her his fortune? If I could make him think there was another reason. He is in love, and love is always jealous. If I could only sow a doubt between them. Countess of Normantower! What I have thrown away! (music stops)
Re-enter Normantower, R.U.D.
Nor. (goes to C.) It’s all right. We’ve found the shawl.
Bea. Did it take two to find it?
Nor. It took two to look for it. Miss Derwent looked everywhere for the shawl, and I looked everywhere for Miss Derwent.
Bea. You are great friends.
Nor. Oh, yes; we get along splendidly. I like Miss Derwent! she is just my sort.
Bea. I thought you hated all women.