Mrs. Toovey (to herself). Where did Theophilus go last Saturday? He is either the most consummate hypocrite, or the most blameless lamb that ever breathed; and I'm sure I don't know which! But I'll find out when Charles comes. It would be almost a relief to find Pa was guilty; for, if he isn't—— But, thank goodness, he is not very likely ever to hear where I was that evening!
Althea (to herself). It couldn't really have been Mamma in that box; she has never made the slightest reference to it. I almost wish she had been there; it would have been easier to tell her. What would she say if she knew I had gone to such a place as the Eldorado?
[She drifts, half unconsciously, into the air of "The Hansom Cabman."
Mrs. Toov. What is that tune you are playing, Thea?
Alth. (flushing). N—nothing, Mamma. Only a tune I heard when I was in town. The—the boys in the street whistle it.
Mrs. Toov. Then it's hardly fit to be played upon my piano. I shouldn't wonder if it came out of one of those abominable music-halls!
Alth. (to herself). She must mean something by that. If she was there after all! (Aloud, distressed.) Mamma, what makes you say that? Do—do you know?
Mrs. Toov. (in equal confusion). Know! Explain yourself, child. How could I possibly——? (To herself.) I shall betray myself if I am not more careful!
Alth. I—I thought—I don't know—it was the way you said it. (To herself.) I very nearly did for myself that time!
Mrs. Toov. (as Althea strikes more chords). For goodness' sake, Thea, either play a proper piece, or shut up the piano and take up some useful work. There's the crazy-quilt I've begun for the Bazaar; you might get on with that.