My dear Lewis, how nice and unchristian of you! I always said you were just the right sort of saint for me.
Mrs. Withers.
Wouldn’t you like to come away now, my dear?
Rosie.
Oh yes, I feel I want to hide myself.
Lady Wanley.
Good-bye darling, don’t take it too much to heart. [The Withers, Abbott, and Rosie shake hands with Holland and Lady Wanley, and go out.] Did you ever hear anything so fiendish? Oh, if I could only make that woman suffer as she’s made poor little Rosie suffer. [Suddenly Lady Wanley gets an idea. She leans forward.] Ambrose.
Holland.
What’s the matter?
Lady Wanley.