Mrs. Crashaw: ‘I haven’t a doubt of it.’
Roberts, sotto voce to his brother-in-law: ‘I think I’ll ask you to go with me to my room, Willis. Don’t alarm Agnes, please. I—I feel quite faint.’
Mrs. Roberts, crestfallen: ‘I can’t feel that Edward was to blame. Ed—Oh, I suppose he’s gone off to make himself presentable. But Willis—Where’s Willis, Aunt Mary?’
Mrs. Crashaw: ‘Probably gone with him to help him.’
Mrs. Roberts: ‘Oh, he saw how unstrung poor Edward was! Mr. Bemis, I think you’re quite prejudiced. How could Edward help their escaping? I think it was quite enough for him, single-handed, to get his watch back.’ A ring at the door, and then a number of voices in the anteroom. ‘I do believe they’re all there! I’ll just run out and prepare your son. He would be dreadfully shocked if he came right in upon you.’ She runs into the anteroom, and is heard without: ‘Oh, Dr. Lawton! Oh, Lou dear! Oh, Mr. Bemis! How can I ever tell you? Your poor father! No, no, I can’t tell you! You mustn’t ask me! It’s too hideous! And you wouldn’t believe me if I did.’
Chorus of anguished voices: ‘What? what? what?’
Mrs. Roberts: ‘They’ve been robbed! Garotted on the Common! And, oh, Dr. Lawton, I’m so glad you’ve come! They’re both injured internally, but I wish you’d look at Edward first.’
Bemis: ‘Good heavens! Is that Mrs. Roberts’s idea of preparing my son? And his poor young wife!’ He addresses his demand to Mrs. Crashaw, who lifts the hands of impotent despair.