Mrs. Wyatt.—"Mary isn't up from her breakfast yet. If you want anything, let me go with you, dear." She turns to follow Constance. "Good morning, Mr. Cummings; we shall see you at dinner. Good morning,"—with an inquiring glance at Bartlett. Constance slightly inclines towards the two gentlemen without looking at them, in going out with her mother; and Cummings moves away to the piano, and affects to examine the sheet-music scattered over it. Bartlett remains in his place near the easel.
III.
Bartlett and Cummings.
Bartlett, harshly, after a certain silence which his friend is apparently resolved not to break.—"Sail in, Cummings!"
Cummings.—"Oh, I've got nothing to say."
Bartlett.—"Yes, you have. You think I'm a greater fool and a greater brute than you ever supposed in your most sanguine moments. Well, I am! What then?"
Cummings, turning about from the music at which he has been pretending to look, and facing Bartlett, with a slight shrug.—"If you choose to characterise your own behaviour in that way, I shall not dispute you at any rate."
Bartlett.—"Go on!"