What shall we make them play?
[They go out.]
Christina.
Good-night, Anne.
Anne.
[Kissing her.] Good-night, my dear. [Henry shakes hands with Anne and Arthur. He and his mother go out.] I suppose I mayn't ask what Christina was referring to?
Arthur.
I can't prevent you from asking.
Anne.
But you have no intention of answering. What is the matter, Arthur? You look so deadly white.