James. But, my dear, this is irrational. He has asked me to shoot him, and I have as good as promised to do so.
Rosamund [entreating]. James, in two hours we are to be married.... Think of the complications.
Gerald. Married! To-day! Then I withdraw my request.
James. Yes; perhaps it will be as well. [Lowers revolver.]
Gerald. I have never yet knowingly asked a friend, even an acquaintance, to shoot me on his wedding-day, and I will not begin now. Moreover, now I come to think of it, the revolver wasn't loaded. Mr. Brett, I inadvertently put you in a ridiculous position. I apologize.
James. I accept the apology. [The general tension slackens. Both the men begin to whistle gently, in the effort after unconcern.]
Rosamund. Jim, will you oblige me by putting that revolver down somewhere. I know it isn't loaded; but so many people have been killed by guns that weren't loaded that I should feel safer.... [He puts it down on the table.] Thank you!
James [picking up letter]. By the way, here's that letter that came just now. Aren't you going to open it? The writing seems to me to be something like Lottie Dickinson's.
Rosamund [taking the letter]. It isn't Lottie's; it's her sister's. [Stares at envelope.] I know what it is. I know what it is. Lottie is ill, or dead, or something, and can't come and be a witness at the wedding. I'm sure it's that. Now, if she's dead we can't be married to-day; it wouldn't be decent. And it's frightfully unlucky to have a wedding postponed. Oh, but there isn't a black border on the envelope, so she can't be dead. And yet perhaps it was so sudden they hadn't time to buy mourning stationery! This is the result of your coming here this morning. I felt sure something would happen. Didn't I tell you so?
James. No, you didn't, my dear. But why don't you open the letter?