Philip. None! but a letter is out of the question.
Sir G. Why?
Philip. How could I ask her—oh, it is impossible!
Sir G. Then, you do feel for her?
Philip. I can’t help pitying her.
Sir G. Perhaps still care for her—a little?
Philip. Sir George (rises), I give you my assurance as a gentleman, nothing has passed between us but kind words. I never loved her; and when I think of all the trouble she has brought on me—how she has banished me for months abroad—how nearly she has made me a false friend—I hate the very mention of her name!
Lady C. (who has followed his words in an agony, unable to restrain herself) Philip! (remembering herself, drops back upon the lounge, and feigns to be asleep)
Philip. (turning, L., quickly) What’s that?
Sir G. (rising and turning up the lamp, sees her upon the lounge) My wife! (going round at back of desk to lounge) She is asleep. (moving her) Bell! Isabel! (she pretends to wake, then starts up suddenly)