Miss Galbraith: “Oh! You were sleeping soundly enough when I got into the car!”
Mr. Richards: “I own it; I was perfectly used up, and I had dropped off.”
Miss Galbraith, scornfully: “Then perhaps you have dreamed it.”
Mr. Richards: “I’ll think so till you tell me again that our engagement is broken; that the faithful love of years is to go for nothing; that you dismiss me with cruel insult, without one word of explanation, without a word of intelligible accusation, even. It’s too much! I’ve been thinking it all over and over, and I can’t make head or tail of it. I meant to see you again as soon as we got to town, and implore you to hear me. Come, it’s a mighty serious matter, Lucy. I’m not a man to put on heroics and that; but I believe it’ll play the very deuce with me, Lucy,—that is to say, Miss Galbraith,—I do indeed. It’ll give me a low opinion of woman.”
Miss Galbraith, averting her face: “Oh, a very high opinion of woman you have had!”
Mr. Richards, with sentiment: “Well, there was one woman whom I thought a perfect angel.”
Miss Galbraith: “Indeed! May I ask her name?”
Mr. Richards, with a forlorn smile. “I shall be obliged to describe her somewhat formally as—Miss Galbraith.”
Miss Galbraith: “Mr. Richards!”
Mr. Richards: “Why, you’ve just forbidden me to say Lucy! You must tell me, dearest, what I have done to offend you. The worst criminals are not condemned unheard, and I’ve always thought you were merciful if not just. And now I only ask you to be just.”