and whatever his faults may have been, it is not for you to think unkindly of him.
CATHERINE [almost bursting]. I shall forget myself.
EDSTASTON. Come! I am sure he really loved you; and you truly loved him.
CATHERINE [controlling herself with a supreme effort]. No, Catherine. What would Voltaire say?
EDSTASTON. Oh, never mind that vile scoffer. Set an example to Europe, Madam, by doing what I am going to do. Marry again. Marry some good man who will be a strength and support to your old age.
CATHERINE. My old—[she again becomes speechless].
EDSTASTON. Yes: we must all grow old, even the handsomest of us.
CATHERINE [sinking into her chair with a gasp]. Thank you.
EDSTASTON. You will thank me more when you see your little ones round your knee, and your man there by the fireside in the winter evenings—by the way, I forgot that you have no fireside here in spite of the coldness of the climate; so shall I say by the stove?
CATHERINE. Certainly, if you wish. The stove by all means.
EDSTASTON [impulsively]. Ah, Madam, abolish the stove: believe me, there is nothing like the good old open grate. Home! duty! happiness! they all mean the same thing; and they all flourish best on the drawing-room hearthrug. [Turning to Claire.] And now, my love, we must not detain the Queen: she is anxious to inspect the model of her museum, to which I am sure we wish every success.
CLAIRE [coldly]. I am not detaining her.
EDSTASTON. Well, goodbye [wringing Patiomkin's hand, goo-oo-oodbye, Prince: come and see us if ever you visit England. Spire View, Deepdene,
