that. You'll make yourself sick. (Aside.) What on earth has come over her? (Aloud.) Darling, what's the matter with you?
Mrs. G. (her face still hidden).—Let me go—let me go to my own room. Only—only say you aren't angry with me.
Captain G.—Angry with you, love. Of course not. I was angry with myself. I'd lost my temper over the saddlery. . . . Don't hide your face, Pussy. I want to kiss it.
Bends lower, Mrs. G. slides right arm round his neck. Several interludes and much sobbing.
Mrs. G. (in a whisper.)—I didn't mean about the jam when I came in to tell you
Captain G.—Bother the jam and the equipment! (Interlude.)
Mrs. G. (still more faintly).—My finger wasn't scalded at all. I—I wanted to speak to you about—about—something else, and—I didn't know how.
Captain G.—Speak away, then. (Looking into her eyes.) Eh! Wha—at? Minnie! Here, don't go away! You don't mean?
Mrs. G. (hysterically, backing to portière and hiding her face in its folds.)—The—the Almost Inevitable Consequences! (Flits though portière as G. attempts to catch her, and bolts herself in her own room.)
Captain G. (his arms full of portière).—Oh! (Sitting down heavily in chair.) I'm a brute—a pig—a bully, and a blackguard. My poor, poor little darling! "Made to be amused only!" . . .
CURTAIN.
