Charles. Rather queer hours to work, Aunt. Are you sure he doesn't go up just to read the paper?
Althea (with a slight flush). He goes up to write it, Charles. Mr. Curphew is on the press, and has taken rooms here for the air of the Common. And—and he is very clever, and works very hard indeed; you can see that from his looks.
Phœbe (announcing). Mr. Curphew.
[A tall slim young man enters, with a pale, smooth-shaven face, and rather melancholy eyes, which light up as he greets Althea.
Mrs. T. How do you do, Mr. Curphew? You are a little late—but some services last longer than others. Oh, Phœbe, now I think of it, just bring me a paper you will find in one of the pockets of Mr. Collimore's overcoat; it's hanging up in the hall—the drab one with grey velvet on the collar. (Phœbe goes.) It's a circular, Mr. Curphew, which was given out in our Church this evening, and may interest you to see.
Phœbe (returning). If you please, m'm, this is the only paper I could find.
Mrs. T. (taking it from the salver, without looking at it). Quite right, Phœbe—we shall be ready for supper when I ring. (When Phœbe has gone.) I can't see anything without my——Althea, just go and see if I have left my spectacle-case in my room, my dear. It's astonishing how they're always getting mislaid, and I'm so helpless without them. (Althea goes.) Mr. Curphew, perhaps you will read this aloud for me; I want my husband to hear.
Curphew (suppressing a slight start). May I ask if they distribute papers of this sort at your Church—and—and why you think it is likely to interest me in particular? (To himself.) Wonder if this can be a trap!
Mrs. T. (taking back the document, and holding it close to her nose). Gracious goodness! this isn't the—— Charles, perhaps you will explain how you come to have a paper in your pocket covered with pictures of females in shamelessly short skirts?
Charles (to himself). In for a pie-jaw this time! What an owl that girl is! (Aloud.) It's only a programme, Aunt; thing they give you at a music-hall, you know.